


First Kiss

by Maayacola



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 13:38:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maayacola/pseuds/Maayacola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things he wants. There are also things he can’t have. He accepts that, but sometimes it’s hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Kiss

#

Yang Hyun Suk, without fail, always calls when Jiyong is sleeping.

This is sort of a feat, because Jiyong is hardly ever sleeping, because he doesn’t have _time_ to sleep. He barely has time to do anything, when promotions are happening, and this time is worse than usual because they’re doing simultaneous promotions in two countries. 

Besides, Jiyong sort of prioritizes changing his hair extensions over sleeping anyway. Especially because he knows that once he goes to sleep he is impossible to wake up.

But Jiyong’s at the end of his tether, exhaustion lying on top of him like a winter quilt, and all he wants to do is close his eyes and forget about working for the next five hours.

So, of course, that’s when Yang Hyun Suk calls. Jiyong thinks about ignoring the call, because his sheets are really soft, and as much as he likes this new apartment, it feels sort of like a hotel room because he’s only slept in it, like, twice or something, and all his boxes are still stacked haphazardly in the living room where Youngbae had left them back in January. But he can’t ignore the call, because Jiyong’s been an adult making adult decisions since he was twelve, so he moans pitifully to himself, because no one can hear him, and rolls over, until the sheets are wrapped around his legs and torso like a sleeping bag. He grabs his phone off the nightstand, and accidentally knocks two of his rings onto the floor, which isn’t a big deal, because it’s not like the things will get lost, as big as they are. 

“Hello?” he mumbles into the receiver, and he remembers to use polite form, barely. 

“Jiyong,” Yang Hyun Suk says. “Wake up.”

“What’s going on?” Jiyong asks, becoming more aware. It’s hot inside his cocoon of sheets, he realizes, and he kind of needs to use the restroom. But really, now he’s just worrying. The last time he got a call like this, his marijuana charge had hit the news. The time before that, Daesung had had an accident that had resulted in a death. “Is everyone okay? Am I okay?”

“Yes, of course,” Yang Hyun Suk says distractedly, his voice nasal and flat. “That’s not why I’m calling.”

“It’s four in the morning,” Jiyong whines, and his boss laughs. 

“I have a five month old baby and a toddler,” he replies. “There’s no such thing as night anymore.” He clears his throat, and Jiyong wants to laugh, because it’s totally the same as Seungri’s impersonation of him, but laughing takes too much energy.

“I just got news from AVEX that my plan’s been approved.”

“Your plan?” Jiyong asks tentatively, because YG’s ‘plans’ are never simple, and they’re never expected. 

“Yes,” Yang Hyun Suk says. “My devious, devious plan.” He clears his throat again, and Jiyong can faintly hear the sound of crying in the background. “When this promotion cycle finishes, you’re going to be part of a new unit group.”

“A new unit?” Jiyong asks, and he frowns. He was looking forward to a bit of free time, to write and regroup. The others had had vacation, but Jiyong had gone straight from ‘ALIVE’ to his solo album, and then they _all_ had done the world tour, and then GD &TOP had done a mini-promotion in Japan, and now they’re all promoting the full-length album concurrently in Japan and Korea. Those two months in the middle, when everyone else had slept… Jiyong hadn’t had those. He had kind of been hoping maknae or Youngbae would be coming out with a solo album next, so he could take a moment to breathe.

But Papa YG is calling him, which means he’ll either be writing music or involved somehow in whatever is next. 

“Yes,” Yang Hyun Suk says. “You and Seungri are going to be a unit, for a Japanese release.”

“Seungri?” Jiyong asks faintly, because he doesn’t really get it. “Why?”

“Seungri, you might have noticed, is the most popular in Japan,” he starts. “And you’re the one who can compose best for him.”

“So I could compose for him, and he could do a solo release,” Jiyong says, and lets his head fall back against the pillow in exhaustion. He looks over at his alarm clock, with its neon-blue numbers, and sighs. He’ll have to be out of bed and ready for the van to pick him up in two hours.

“No,” Yang Hyun Suk says. “There’s also the marketing issue.”

“You just said Seungri was the most popular,” Jiyong says. “And I’m already part of GD&TOP.”

“Yes,” Yang Hyun Suk says. “But Nyongtori is even more popular.”

_Oh. Right._ Jiyong knows that fanservice sells. He’s always known it, even though he’s never actually gone out of his way to do it. Still, whenever he cuts eyes at Seungri or Seunghyun pulls Daesung a little too close, the screaming girls are more than enough for him to get the picture. 

It’s funny, he thinks, that the fans all love to pretend Seungri is something more to him, but if they even suspected that Jiyong liked kissing men outside of his professional life…

They never will though. Because Jiyong has far too much self-control and situational awareness for that. Because the marijuana _incident_ has taught him that there aren’t any moments he’s off; there’s always a camera, and always someone watching. Always someone waiting for him to trip up. Jiyong won’t make that mistake again, thinking he can let his guard down.

Jiyong’s learned his lesson. You can’t trust anyone, in this business. Not even yourself, sometimes. Jiyong tucks the pain of that lesson into his pocket and saves it, along with his secrets and desires, for later. For after.

“You want to sell us like _that,_ then,” Jiyong says, and he won’t be going back to sleep now. Not because he minds all this—no, it’s more that now that his brain is wrapping around it, he’s got all sorts of ideas. 

“Don’t say it like that,” Yang Hyun Suk says. “You’ve probably got one track planning itself in your head already.”

“Three,” Jiyong admits. “We’ll sound really nice together. Maknae singing harmony with me.” The thought of it makes Jiyong shiver with a little bit of anticipation. He runs a hand through his hair. It’s getting a little long, but he likes it. It’s soft, and healthy. He’ll probably dye it soon, and the natural, soft texture will be lost, but he likes it right now; the way it parts easily for his fingers and threatens to misbehave for his hairstylists. 

He wonders if Seungri will mind. Being with just Jiyong. After what happened…

“I want five tracks, Jiyong. We’ll do a mini-album. No solo tracks for either of you, and I want primarily English and Japanese language lyrics.”

“I know, I know,” Jiyong says distractedly. “I’ll probably write the tracks with maknae… he can at least speak Japanese.” His sheets are sticking to his skin now, and Jiyong wants to get up, and he wants to write. There’s a melody pulsing now, pounding at his skull. 

It’s always like this. Jiyong gets ideas, and if he doesn’t get them out, right then, they stay there, hammering away at his attention span and his sanity until he can put pen to paper. Or fingers to keyboard, but that’s very literal and Jiyong is all about metaphors. 

“I’ll let you go, then,” Yang Hyun Suk says. “I expect your usual standard of work.”

“Of course,” Jiyong says seriously. “I won’t let you down.”

“You never have,” Yang Hyun Suk says, and he hangs up the phone, leaving Jiyong to ponder half-written melodies and impossible standards he can’t help but want to meet. 

#

Nyongtori is a nickname BIGBANG fans give them, a play on their names.

The first time Jiyong hears it, he’s holding hands with Seungri as they walk down the street. Seungri’s hand is small and warm, and Seungri’s the same height as him, hair floppy and spiky and all over the place, and his face is still round, baby fat hiding in his cheeks and in the set of his smile.

Seungri’s always surprised when Jiyong grabs his hand. Jiyong thinks it’s because it took him so long to accept that it would be Seungri instead of Hyunseung. That Seungri would be their fifth. 

It’s because Jiyong doesn’t like change. Superficial change is something he embraces. He changes his clothes at least three times a day, and he’ll change his hair and his make-up and his favorite color on a whim as easily as anyone else, maybe easier. But Jiyong’s eaten the same brand of cereal his whole life, and he’s used the same brand of shampoo, and he won’t even consider using a different detergent on his laundry than the one his mother used when he lived at home. And he’d had the same vision of his perfect band since he’d found out BIGBANG was going to exist with himself as the leader. 

Seungri wasn’t part of that vision, until he was, and as soon as Jiyong decided to let Seungri into his heart, Seungri had barreled in, bulldozing all the walls with his laugh that’s too loud and his smile that’s too wide. Seungri’s every action demands attention, and Jiyong can’t help but give it to him.

There’s something magnetic about Seungri, and Jiyong’s hands wander and always find Seungri, wrapping around his shoulder or grabbing at his cheeks. Jiyong doesn’t know why Seungri inspires this in him, only that even when Seungri dodges away, Jiyong doesn’t want to stop, grabbing his squirming form until Seungri gives in and lets Jiyong plant a kiss on his cheek. “Maknae is mine,” he’ll say to interviewers, dancers, or anyone else who is willing to listen, because every time he says it, a possessive thrill goes through him, and then stops in his chest, burning there bright and hot. 

Jiyong realizes Seungri only doesn’t like Jiyong touching him in front of the cameras. When the cameras are off, Seungri will fold into Jiyong’s arms at even the slightest tug. When the cameras are off, Seungri will curl up in Jiyong’s bed with him and talk to him about everything, and Jiyong will just listen, letting Seungri’s voice wash over him until they both fall asleep,

Jiyong doesn’t care about the cameras, but Seungri does. So Jiyong just grabs Seungri’s hand whenever he wants, and Seungri always flushes, his eyes darting around to see if people notice.

Jiyong doesn’t understand why until he hears the whisper. “Are they dating?” he hears a girl ask her friend, as they walk down the street, and Seungri drops his hand like it’s on fire. Jiyong’s throat is dry, and his hand is lonely.

Later that night, Seungri slips under Jiyong’s blanket, knees banging into Jiyong’s as he makes himself fit, folding himself into the spaces Jiyong’s body leaves in the bed. He fits perfectly, and Jiyong sighs as Seungri’s head finds the space between Jiyong’s shoulder and chin. 

“It really bothers you?” Jiyong asks, quietly, into Seungri’s fluffy hair. Little pieces of it work their way into Jiyong’s mouth, but Jiyong doesn’t mind. Seungri’s hair smells like lavender. “When people think that about us?”

“It’s not true,” Seungri says. “So yeah.”

“Does that mean it wouldn’t bother you if it were true?” Jiyong jokes, and Seungri doesn’t answer, just sighs and burrows closer, slipping a leg between Jiyong’s. “We’re getting too old for this,” Jiyong informs him, and Seungri ignores him.

“They call us Nyongtori,” Seungri says, just when Jiyong thinks he’s fallen asleep. Jiyong blinks.

“What?”

“Nyongtori. It’s our… couple-name.”

“You’ve been searching yourself on Naver again,” Jiyong chides, but really, it’s funny. “That’s so cute—the name, I mean. Nyongtori.”

“You’re not upset?” Seungri asks, and Jiyong sighs, even as he continues to chuckle. 

“Why should I be?” Jiyong queries, and Seungri relaxes as Jiyong soothingly rubs his back. “Maknae is mine. At least if we have a couple name, everyone’s acknowledging it.”

“Okay,” Seungri says. “Maknae is yours.”

It’s the first time he’s acknowledged that Jiyong’s possessiveness is okay, and maybe that’s why Jiyong likes the name Nyongtori so much. 

#

In the morning, Jiyong calls Seungri. “Have you heard?” he asks, and Seungri grunts into the phone. 

“Hyung, it’s _early_ ,” Seungri whines, and Jiyong smiles, because their baby is cute, even if Jiyong wants to point out that Seungri should have been awake awhile ago if he plans on being on being ready when the van arrives to pick him up for rehearsal. 

“You know it’s a shame if _I_ am waking you up,” Jiyong laughs, and his hands toy casually with his rings, twisting them about his knuckles. “Me. Kwon Jiyong. Waking someone up.”

“You’re only hard to wake up because you work until you drop,” Seungri mumbles, and Jiyong chuckles when Seungri swears, probably because he’s tripping over his sheets. “Trust me, I know how you live.”

“I know, I know,” Jiyong says, and he bites on his lip. “So I take it you didn’t get a four am phone call from our boss?” Jiyong looks out the window. He’s still getting used to the street view. Unfortunately, he’d had to move out of his old apartment back in January, because somehow the address had leaked. Jiyong would still like to know how that happened, but what’s done is done. It’s not like he’d had time to get attached to the place, after all. Between touring and work, he’d felt more like a visitor than a resident. He’d been hoping this place would be different, but it’s more of the same. 

“No,” Seungri says. “Or if I did, I slept right through it.” The tone of Seungri’s voice is playful, and Jiyong has a feeling that Seungri had rolled over and given the phone the finger last night. He can’t help but laugh.

“Naughty maknae,” Jiyong says. “What if something really bad had happened?” He hears Seungri huff, and the sound of rustling fabric lets Jiyong know that Seungri is doing that weird dance he does to wriggle into his tighter jeans. “You are so lucky you don’t have any hair.”

“I have hair,” Seungri protests. “It’s just not ridiculous.” Seungri sighs, and Jiyong can totally picture him zipping up his pants, relieved to have gotten them on without falling. It makes Jiyong feel kind of nostalgic for the times when he’d watched that circus from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and curlers in his hair. “Anyway, if it had been super important, there would have been something in our chat. I have it set to alert, so it would have been making noises.”

Jiyong files that piece of information away for later, and clears his throat. “We’re doing unit promotions.”

Seungri’s shuffling noises stop. “Who is _we_?” He asks, and Jiyong can hear him collapse onto his bed to listen more carefully. 

“Me. And you.”

“But we aren’t a unit,” Seungri says slowly, and Jiyong rolls his eyes.

“We are now,” Jiyong says. “And I’ve already got all sorts of ideas and lyrics… And I’d like you to write some of the Japanese lyrics.”

Seungri is quiet for a moment, then he sighs. “You want… you want to write music with me?” Seungri sounds incredulous, and Jiyong wonders what the big deal is.

“Well, yes,” Jiyong says. “We’re a unit now.”

“But you’ve never written music with me,” Seungri repeats. “Only with TOP-hyung, or with Teddy, or… Not me.”

“Do you not want to?” Jiyong asks. He’s confused. Jiyong hadn’t considered that Seungri would mind writing with Jiyong. Or that Seungri might have some kind of issue… “Is this about-“

“No!” Seungri says. “Of course not! I’d love to!” Seungri says quickly, and it’s almost a shout, but Jiyong just looks quizzically at his phone for a second before he shrugs. The van pulls up outside, and Jiyong gathers his wallet and his backpack, slipping into his fuchsia and gold sneakers at the door. “I was just surprised, is all. That you’d want to.”

“Oh,” Jiyong says. “I thought it was about. Other things.” Jiyong locks the door, and notices his hands are shaking a bit. The key goes in smooth, but the lock is stiff, because Jiyong had new locks installed when he moved in. He licks his lips as he takes the stairs. “You know. Because of before.” 

Seungri’s wide eyes, and Jiyong’s accelerated heart-rate. The way Seungri refused to meet his gaze for weeks and weeks. Everything seems okay now, but Jiyong sometimes wonders if it really is.

“Don’t be silly,” Seungri says. “You know I… don’t care about that.” Seungri’s voice is falsely cheerful. 

“Right,” Jiyong says, slowly. “Anyway, I figured we’d get started as soon as possible.” He waves to the driver, and notices Daesung is already asleep in the back seat. He slips smoothly into his professional voice, and Seungri laughs.

“Oh my god, are you using your ‘interview voice’ on me?” Seungri snickers. “Don’t even, I have seen your song writing process. We’re going to be up at three in the morning, eating Starburst candies and playing drumbeats on the wall. I pity your new neighbors. I had such a hard life, hyung.”

Jiyong swallows, and relaxes. “Whatever,” Jiyong says. “We’re coming to get you next. Brush your teeth.”

“I always do,” Seungri grumbles, and Jiyong snorts. 

“You always do it _last_ ,” Jiyong says. “You’ve only got six minutes, so you’ll have to skip the ‘stare at myself in the mirror for ten minutes’ part of your morning routine.”

“Damn,” Seungri says. “That really is my favorite part of the morning.”

“I know,” Jiyong replies. “But you should have woken up earlier.”

“Well, if you hadn’t called me-“ Seungri starts and Jiyong makes a tsking sound with his tongue against the back of his teeth. 

“You’d still be asleep,” Jiyong interrupts. “You should thank me, maknae.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Seungri says. “Let me go brush my teeth. And find a jacket. Because it’s cold.”

“It is,” Jiyong said, and he pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up, sitting next to Daesung and putting his sunglasses on to hide his red eyes. The gentle purr of the car almost lulls him to sleep, but then Seungri is bounding into the car, crowding his space and waking Daesung. 

“Jiyong-hyung? When’d you get here?” Daesung asks drowsily, as Seungri squeezes in between him and Jiyong. Seungri is wearing his skinny jeans, the ones with holes at the knees that Jiyong bought him last year for his birthday. Jiyong is pleased, because the pockets are fraying the way they always fray on Seungri’s favorite jeans, because Seungri likes to shove his hands in his pockets when he talks and it wears away at the edges until they’re a mess. “Morning, Seungri.”

“Morning!” Seungri says cheerfully, like he hadn’t been grumbling on the phone with Jiyong less than fifteen minutes ago, speech slurred with sleep. Jiyong turns to look out the window instead of saying hello, but Seungri doesn’t mind, pressing his thigh against Jiyong’s and leaning too close. Jiyong shifts uncomfortably for a moment before he relaxes.

If Seungri doesn’t mind the touching, why should he? “Morning, hyung,” Seungri says into Jiyong’s ear, and Jiyong shivers a bit as the minty smell of Seungri’s toothpaste washes over him, mixed with the musky smell of his aftershave.

“You’re old enough to shave, now?” Jiyong jokes, putting his hand on Seungri’s thigh, letting his hand rest right above the open patch of Seungri’s knee. The muscle there tightens, for the briefest moment, making Jiyong wonder if Seungri doesn’t want it there, but Seungri relaxes and leans closer to Jiyong. 

“Don’t be mean to me,” Seungri says with a pout, and Jiyong finally turns to look at him. The circles under his eyes are dark, darker than usual, but his smile is mischievous and alert. “We’re a unit now.”

“Say what?” Youngbae says, as he climbs into the van. “You’re a unit?”

Seungri looks at Jiyong for answers, and Jiyong sighs. “We’re going to be promoting in Japan together. A mini-album. Got the call last night.”

“A whole mini-album? I thought it was one song?” Seungri says, and Jiyong frowns. “If you answered your phone…” he says testily, fingers tightening on Seungri’s thigh, and Seungri wriggles a bit, and smiles charmingly. 

“I need my beauty sleep,” he says, and he bats his eyelashes at Jiyong in a way that does funny things to Jiyong’s stomach. “Plus you told me I had a bed-time, don’t you remember?”

Jiyong does, and it makes him smile. “Yes, but let’s be honest here; that was totally ‘go lock yourself in your room and watch lesbian porn and stop bothering me’ time, not bed-time.” Seungri laughs loudly and obnoxiously, and so does Daesung, as Youngbae winces. 

“It’s too early in the morning for you,” Youngbae says, and he pops in his earphones in the front seat. 

Seungri sticks his tongue out at the back of Youngbae’s seat, and Jiyong wants to pinch his cheeks. He wonders if he’s still allowed to do that. 

“What?” Seungri says, and Jiyong realizes he’s been staring. Seungri knows despite Jiyong’s sunglasses, because Seungri always knows when someone is staring at him. 

“Nothing,” Jiyong says, and he looks away, back out the window. They’re almost at Seunghyun’s place, he notices.

“It’ll be fun,” Seungri says quietly, after a few moments pass. Jiyong meets Seungri’s eyes, and Seungri’s expression is open and honest. It always is; Jiyong admires that. “To work together. Just us.” He pitches his voice soft, because Youngbae is listening to music and Daesung has nodded off again. “Don’t you think?”

Seungri’s fingers find Jiyong’s, and fiddle with Jiyong’s rings, same as Jiyong himself does when he’s nervous. The big ring on his middle finger is the one that Seungri focuses on, twisting it around and around on Jiyong’s finger. Jiyong feels his heartbeat inexplicably quicken, but he ignores it.

“Of course it will be,” Jiyong says, as the van pulls to a stop. “Maknae’s my favorite.”

“I know,” Seungri says. “It’s because I’m so cute.”

“Gross,” Seunghyun says as he curls his back, fitting his long body into the van and almost collapsing into the last seat, the one in front of Jiyong. “Someone’s been lying to maknae again.”

“It’s not me,” Jiyong says, and Seunghyun smirks. “Maknae lies to himself well enough for all of us.”

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” Seunghyun says, in a falsetto he clearly uses to imitate Seungri, and Jiyong covers his mouth with the hand Seungri doesn’t have possession of. 

Seungri huffs, and releases Jiyong’s hand to cross his arms. “You’re just jealous.”

“Why, it’s T.O.P,” Seunghyun says, continuing with his play. “Seungri, you’re quite fair, but it is T.O.P., the rugged and handsome power-rapper of BIGBANG, who is the fairest in the land-“

Jiyong can’t help but laugh, and Seungri pretends to be put-out, but his eyes are sparkling and a half-smile is peeking up his face.

“So mean,” Seungri says. “We all know I’m the pretty one, no matter how much you narrow your eyes and waggle your eyebrows.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Seunghyun says, turning around in his seat, leaving Jiyong and Seungri pressed arm to arm in the back seat. Jiyong closes his eyes and leans his head back. After a while, Seungri falls into him, and he peeks out of one eye to investigate.

Seungri has fallen asleep, mouth slightly parted and eyelashes dark and heavy against the soft pink of his cheeks. He is rather pretty, Jiyong thinks, but he’s always known that. Seungri was pretty even as a kid. Jiyong had been awkward and strange, eyes too small and face too round for classic attractiveness, but Seungri had shown up beautiful, smooth skin and glowing smile and a face that made everyone want to trust him. The dark circles under his eyes only added to the charm, which Jiyong thought was totally unfair at the time, but now he gets it. 

Jiyong gently frees his arm and wraps it around Seungri’s shoulders, and Seungri’s cheek presses into his chest.

If you’d asked Jiyong a month ago if he and Seungri would ever be sitting next to each other like this again, Jiyong’s hand curled around Seungri’s upper arm as Seungri curves into his side, he’d have been hard-pressed to answer. 

That’s because two months ago, Jiyong had kissed him. 

Jiyong remembers only parts of what happened. He’d been drunk, so drunk, and he had felt safe around Seungri. Like he could let his guard down around someone. Like it was okay to just be Jiyong around him. And Seungri had looked so pretty in the lamplight, as he’d waited for Jiyong outside the convenience store, hands in his pockets, thumbs through his belt-loops. 

Still, Jiyong hadn’t meant to kiss him. Jiyong had just wanted to look at him a little closer. Or maybe to remind himself that maknae was still his. He’s not sure what happened, really, only that that suddenly his mouth was pressed against Seungri’s, and Seungri’s mouth was soft, so soft, and Seungri’s eyes were wide, and then he felt a little bit of return pressure, as Seungri’s hands had fisted in his jacket…

But then Seungri had pushed him off, same as he always does when they’re posing for the camera, and he had looked away from Jiyong. “You’re drunk,” Seungri says. “And you’ll be upset with yourself tomorrow.”

Seungri’s hands on his waist. Seungri’s breath on his neck. The smell of his lavender shampoo. Seungri. Seungri.

Jiyong had woken up with a hangover and a feeling in his gut that had nothing to do with how much he’d had to drink the night before.

“Seungri,” he’d said, when he walked out into his living room to find Seungri on the couch, arms around his legs, curled up into a ball. “I’m-“

“It’s nothing, right?” Seungri had asked. “You were drunk, right?” There was something strange in his voice, that Jiyong didn’t really understand. “You didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Maknae…” Jiyong had a million things he wanted to say, but Seungri wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it!” Seungri had said, and his cheerfulness had seemed… thin, like a layer over his actions that he usually reserved for the camera. Jiyong had reached out toward him, but Seungri had backed away from the touch, and that, more than anything, had told Jiyong it wasn’t okay.

And now, sometimes Jiyong feels like it was a dream. Like maybe it had never happened. 

He looks down at their youngest, who breathes evenly, one arm finding its way across Jiyong’s waist, hand fisting in his shirt like they’re both still young enough that this isn’t weird, and his heart shivers. 

Somehow, everything is like it was, and Jiyong wonders if Seungri’s managed to make himself forget. 

Seungri always makes himself forget the things that hurt him. Jiyong hates knowing he’s been responsible for a lot of those things.

“You’re looking at him like he’s your girlfriend again,” Youngbae says. “Practicing for the camera?” He’s taken out one of his earbuds, and he’s got one eyebrow raised. “This is totally why you can’t keep a woman.”

“Are you giving me relationship advice?” Jiyong asks quietly, careful not to move too much. One of his hands slides into Seungri’s short hair, and Seungri sighs, and shifts, and Jiyong’s eyes flicker down to look at him for a moment before returning to Youngbae. “Because that would be ridiculous.”

“Just because I don’t date doesn’t mean I don’t have common sense,” Youngbae says defensively. Jiyong notes he’s also quiet, because both Daesung and Seungri are sleeping, and Seunghyun looks about halfway there. “Girls know you _can_ look at someone like that, so when you don’t look like that at them, they feel unloved.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jiyong says. “I’m just looking after the maknae, is all. He’s mine.”

“See?” Youngbae says. “Possessive. It’s weird, Jiyong. Fanservice in private is not fanservice.”

“I just like taking care of him,” Jiyong says. “He’s a cute kid.”

“He’s not that much younger than you,” Seunghyun rumbles. “And he’s certainly not young enough for you to be petting him like that all the time.”

Jiyong’s throat feels dry. “He doesn’t seem to have a problem with it,” Jiyong says, and he’s glad he’s wearing sunglasses. 

“Of course he doesn’t,” Youngbae says. “He doesn’t have a problem with anything you do. Because it’s you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jiyong says, and he’s glad he’s wearing sunglasses because he feels his eyes widen. He stops the motion of his hand in Seungri’s soft, soft hair, and his voice is too loud, because it makes Seungri shift, and Daesung’s eyes flutter open. 

“It means you’re stupid,” Seunghyun says, and he doesn’t turn around. Jiyong glares half-heartedly at the back of his seat, but then Seungri moves again, arm tightening. Jiyong’s glad he’s just wearing a sweatshirt, otherwise he’s be conflicted about the way Seungri’s nails are digging into the fabric. 

Daesung suddenly jolts up in his seat. Jiyong snickers lightly, because his hair is wild in the back. “Are we there yet?”

“Almost,” the driver says.

When they pull to a stop outside the building, Seungri slowly sits up, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hands and smiling at Jiyong. “You’re a good pillow,” Seungri whispers, and Jiyong would roll his eyes but no one would see. 

“Too skinny,” Seunghyun says, climbing out of the van. “Sucky pillow.”

“How would you know?” Seungri says, cutting in front of Youngbae to follow Seunghyun out of the car.

“Jiyong and I spent long months together as GD&TOP,” Seunghyun says, and his voice trails off as he walks toward the building. “Long, romantic months—why the cool look, maknae? Are you _jealous_ , maknae?” And then Jiyong can’t hear them anymore. He looks down, and one of his rings is wrong-side up. He smiles, and turns it, so it faces outward like the rest of them.

Jiyong waits until Youngbae and Daesung have exited the vehicle, the latter scratching sleepily at the back of his head, before grabbing his backpack and following them out. 

Seungri, to his surprise, is waiting for him, eyes open and a little solemn. The others walk ahead, and Seungri, for the briefest moment, reaches down and snags Jiyong’s hand with his own, and squeezes. Then he lets go, and steps back again “Hey,” Seungri says, and his eyes follow the others as they walk through the glass doors. “I like our friendship the way it is,” Seungri says. “Doesn’t matter if other people think it’s weird.”

“You-“ Jiyong starts. “You weren’t really asleep?” Jiyong feels a sneaking tingle of embarrassment run up his spine, and recalls, vividly, the way Seungri’s hair felt like silk between his fingers. It always has. “Punk.”

Seungri grins cheekily. “I didn’t move, did I?” He scratches his chin like he’s thinking. “Maybe there’s a future for me in acting, after all.”

Jiyong pulls his shades down. “It’s really alright with you? After…”

“If it wasn’t, I would have said something,” Seungri says, turning his face away from Jiyong’s examination. “I’m not known for my silence.”

Jiyong kind of adores that Seungri won’t shut up, because he loves always knowing what Seungri is feeling or thinking. He loves the way Seungri looks when he’s explaining things, face lit up. _Look at me,_ Seungri’s face seems to say, and Jiyong wants to. Jiyong does.

Maknae’s his favorite, after all. 

“Okay then,” Jiyong says, and he nudges Seungri with his elbow. “Let’s catch up, maknae.”

#

Maknae is Jiyong’s favorite. If you ask Jiyong who his best friend is, he might say “Dong Youngbae.” And if you ask him which member he likes to talk to about nothing, he might say “Choi Seunghyun.” And if you ask Jiyong who he likes to spend quiet moments with, he might say “Kang Daesung.”

But if you ask Jiyong who his favorite is, it will always be Lee Seunghyun. It will always be Seungri.

Jiyong doesn’t really know why, only there’s something about Seungri that Jiyong can’t look away from. When Seungri sits on his lap and plays with his fingers, Jiyong’s pulse quickens, and his heart is so loud in his ears that he can’t imagine liking anyone more.

He tries. He goes out on dates with Japanese supermodels, and girls his sister sets him up with, and sometimes with music video dancers who smile at him just right when they’re filming, strong shoulders and full thighs and just enough facial hair to scratch along the upper edge of Jiyong’s top lip. Jiyong tries to fall in love with them, too. 

But they all seem to know that Jiyong’s heart isn’t available for the taking. That Jiyong won’t fall in love with them. Jiyong’s not sure how they know, because Jiyong’s not even completely sure of it himself. All he knows is that if someone asks him if he’s in love, he’d never say yes, but it somehow feels untrue to say no.

Mizuhara Kiko comes close though. Something about her is charming, the way she arches her brow, and the way she knows how beautiful she is, and the way she jokes with him, and makes cute expressions to make him give her what she wants.

Jiyong realizes, after awhile, that the things he likes about her are the things he likes about Seungri, and the things he doesn’t like are the things that are different. 

Kiko thinks he is perfect because she can’t see his flaws. Seungri thinks he is perfect because he knows all of Jiyong’s flaws, and how hard Jiyong’s worked to overcome them.

That ends because the media finds out, and Jiyong doesn’t want to destroy her career. Japan is harsh on its ladies, and Kiko wants to be an actress. Availability is key, Jiyong knows. He’s an idol, if a non-traditional one. He tells Yang Hyun Suk that they’re just friends, and the next day, he makes it true.

“Ahhh, but you really liked her,” Seunghyun says when Jiyong tells them, and Seungri is staring at his shoes, and Jiyong decides to examine his nails. “That’s too bad.”

“I like maknae better, anyway,” Jiyong says, and Youngbae makes a gagging noise. 

“You’re just saying that,” Seungri says, still not looking up. “You’ll have a new girlfriend next week.”

“And you’ll have three,” Jiyong retorts, but he stands, and walks over to Seungri, squeezing into the same chair with him and tugging on Seungri’s shirt until Seungri leans closer. “But I’m not just saying that.” Jiyong whispers the last part into Seungri’s ear, and Seungri smiles a little, even as he goes red. 

Jiyong’s pleased, and tries not to think about how much it’s true.

 

#

Yang Hyun Suk drops into their practice room as they rehearse for their final Inkigayo taping in three hours. “Everything looks good,” he says, when Jiyong collapses into a chair next to him, sweat dripping down his face. “Don’t make yourself too tired or the performance won’t look good.”

“Yes,” Jiyong says, and he looks up, and Seungri is running through the choreography again, eyes watching every line of his own body as he slowly slides from move to move. “I’ll go stop him.”

“Have you talked to him about the mini-album?” Yang Hyun Suk asks, and Jiyong nods. 

“A little, this morning. He seems excited.”

“Of course he is,” Yang Hyun Suk says. “He idolizes you.”

“We’re friends,” Jiyong says. “And I’m his leader.”

“Mmm,” Yang Hyun Suk says, and there’s a weird look in his eyes, but then it’s gone, so Jiyong wonders if he’s imagined it. “Better go stop your little brother from wearing himself out.”

“Will do, hyung,” Jiyong says, and peels himself up from his seat. 

Seungri is staring at himself, flexing his wrist. “It’s not the same every time,” Seungri says. 

“It looks good, maknae,” Jiyong says. “Relax. This is the last time, not the first.”

“You frowned, after Tuesday’s,” Seungri says, and Jiyong doesn’t know what he’s talking about. 

“What?”

“When we watched the taping last time. You frowned when I did this. So it must have looked wrong,” Seungri says distractedly. Jiyong licks his lips.

“So what?” Jiyong says. “If it was a problem, I would have told you.” Jiyong reaches up and grabs Seungri’s wrist, forcing it down. “I’m the perfectionist, not you.” Seungri’s pulse is quick beneath his fingers.

“I just want to make you happy, hyung,” Seungri says, and then he’s biting his lip, and Jiyong swallows. He turns away, but then he catches their reflection in the mirror. Seungri looks so tall, and Jiyong remembers when they were the same height. Seungri’s neck is flushed red, and Jiyong watches a drop of sweat slide down his clavicle and disappear below the v-neck of his black t-shirt. 

Jiyong’s heart is beating too fast. He takes a deep breath. “I’m happy,” Jiyong says. “It looks good.”

“Yeah?” Seungri’s eyes grab a hold of his in the mirror, and Jiyong pulls away. 

“Come on. Let’s cool down and talk to the boss about the mini-album.”

“Okay,” Seungri says, and he pulls away, trotting over to his tote-bag and retrieving a towel. Jiyong still doesn’t look at him, instead walking back over to Yang Hyun Suk, straddling his chair as he sits down. Seungri is there a minute later, dragging a chair with him. 

“How long do you need to compose?” Yang Hyun Suk asks, and Jiyong taps his fingers along the wood. His rings clank against the metal screws. 

“I’ve got the beginning sketched out for some things already. And some things I was already writing for Seungri.” Sometimes, when Jiyong wakes up at two in the morning with a melody buzzing in his head, he writes songs for the others. Sometimes he writes songs for himself, or for the band to do together, but mostly, he just writes songs for Seungri. Seungri’s doesn’t have the strongest vocals in the group, but they’re the sweetest… there’s purity and sweetness to his voice that makes Jiyong want to write things with really raunchy lyrics, because Jiyong likes the idea, sometimes, of messing things up.

Of messing Seungri up. He doesn’t give Seungri those songs, because Jiyong knows he’s not supposed to want that. So he just… doesn’t. Another thing he can’t do. He just adds it to the list.

“For me?” Seungri asks, leaning closer so their shoulders and knees touch. Seungri is resting his chin on he back of his own chair, and looking up at Jiyong through his lashes in a way that’s falsely coy. Seungri is always doing cutsey things because he knows it gets him what he wants. It works on Jiyong, too, so Jiyong doesn’t really blame him. 

“Yes,” Jiyong says, pretending like he can barely spare Seungri a glance. Seungri hates that, Jiyong knows he does, and then Seungri moves his chair closer in retaliation, which makes Yang Hyun Suk look at him curiously. 

“I can’t hear,” Seungri says facetiously, and Jiyong wants to laugh, because Seungri looks so smug and proud of himself, but he’s too busy trying to ignore the way they’re pressed together thigh to thigh.

“Then I’ll book the studio for you for two weeks from now. You can write and finish things up, and take a breather, too, Jiyong.”

“Seungri’s going to help me with the Japanese lyrics,” Jiyong says, and Yang Hyun Suk peers at Seungri. 

“Oh really?” he says, and Seungri blushes, and it’s such a rare expression on his face that Jiyong takes a moment to enjoy it.

“Yes,” Seungri says. “He said I could.”

Yang Hyun Suk looks amused, and he gives Jiyong that look again, the one Jiyong saw earlier but couldn’t identify. He still doesn’t understand it. 

“Well, I look forward to it,” Yang Hyun Suk says. 

When he leaves, Youngbae comes over and slings an arm around Jiyong’s shoulder. “What was that about?” 

“Seungri and I’s unit promotions,” Jiyong says. “In Japan.”

“I haven’t heard about this,” Seunghyun says, appearing out of nowhere despite the fact that he has a magenta-colored stripe in his faux-hawk and he’s taller than anyone else in the band. “Since when are you and the kid a unit group?” 

“Since last night at four am,” Jiyong says. “Because I answered my phone.”

“Not my fault you’re a sucker,” Seungri says, but there’s a bit of apology in his smile when Jiyong gives him a tiny glare, and it’s adorable, the way he laughs, his tongue peeking out just a little and his eyes scrunching up. “Turn off your phone when you need sleep.”

“Jiyong can’t do that,” Seunghyun says. “Someone might make a decision without him about something, and then the world will end.” There’s a bit of sarcasm in it, understated the way Seunghyun’s sarcasm always is, and Jiyong controls his impulse to just stick his tongue out at the man. 

“Shut up,” Jiyong says. “Four am calls have a way of being crises, around here.”

“Truth,” Youngbae says, sprawling on the floor in front of Seungri’s chair, kicking at the leg of it with his sneaker. 

“Sorry,” Daesung says miserably. “Because of me, everyone is always worried now.”

“And me,” Jiyong says, and it stings because things aren’t supposed to be his fault. He’s supposed to be perfect when people are looking, and he wasn’t. It feels like failure, and Jiyong doesn’t want to feel it again. 

He shifts his chair away from Seungri. “Anyway, maknae and I are going to be a unit group. Keep it quiet, for now,” Jiyong says, in his leader-voice, and Youngbae nods, crossing his arms behind his head. 

“Sounds fun.”

“Sounds even gayer than usual,” Seunghyun says. “You guys should make it a competition.” He looks at Daesung, and Daesung’s face brightens. 

“I’ll be Jiyong,” Daesung says, and Seunghyun immediately shoves his hands in his pockets and bounces on the balls of his feet. 

“Hyung, hyung!” he says, and Daesung giggles before he schools his face into an indulgent smile and pinches Seunghyun’s cheek. 

“Maknae,” Daesung says, in a _terrible_ impersonation of Jiyong. “You are so cute I could eat you!”

“Hyung, you should drag me into that closet over there so we can talk about it!” Seunghyun screeches, and Daesung, who can barely restrain himself from cackling, crosses his arms. 

“Why, when I can molest you right here in front of everyone?”

“Oh, hyung, not here, I’ll be so embarrassed~” Seunghyun wails, and Daesung leans forward and pretends to kiss him.

Youngbae is laughing so loud it echoes, and he pounds the floor as Jiyong wriggles uncomfortably in his seat. He sneaks a glance at Seungri, but Seungri is staunchly not looking at him, flushed and stiff, and Jiyong feels trapped and anxious.

“Stop it,” Jiyong says, and he tries not to get angry, because they’re just teasing. They don’t know about it, because Seungri would never have told them, and the way Seungri looks right now, maybe he wants people to know even less than Jiyong does. That hurts, a little, but Jiyong understands.

Maknae loves being a playboy, collecting girls’ phone numbers by the handful and having a different girlfriend every week when they’re in Japan. Maknae likes all of that, and Jiyong can understand not wanting it all to be ruined because of Jiyong’s lapse in judgment.

Jiyong can understand it, but as hard as he tries, he’s never been able to completely get rid of his feelings. Sometimes he thinks he’d like to, but he’s a songwriter. Songwriters need feelings. Jiyong spills it all onto paper and doesn’t otherwise let it affect his work.

Seunghyun chuckles and drops his pose, and Daesung plops on the floor next to Youngbae. 

“Anyway,” Seunghyun says. “The moral of the story is that you can just do that. No one will care what you sing in Japan.”

“I’ll care,” Seungri says, and he’s looking down at the floor. “Excuse me for a moment.”

He disappears, to the bathroom or maybe to get water or something, and Seunghyun frowns. “I don’t get it,” he says. “He didn’t used to get so upset.”

“He’s older now,” Jiyong says, and his shirt is sticking to him. “I’m going to go shower.”

“Good idea,” Youngbae says. “Since your make-up takes _hours_.”

“It’s complicated,” Jiyong says, but it relaxes him a bit, to banter. 

The shower relaxes him further, hot water pounding into his back and loosening his muscles. He concentrates on the way it feels as it hits his skin, instead of thinking about the way Seungri’s face had tensed. Or worse, the way Seungri’s mouth had felt beneath his own, that one early spring night, the taste of _soju_ heavy on his tongue. 

He towels off, slipping into his leather performance trousers, and quickly shakes the water out of his hair. He adds a fresh t-shirt, just until he can change into the cool belted shirt he acquired in France for the taping.

Seungri is normal again, laughing and doing a weird little dance with Daesung in the corner, and Seunghyun is reading a script. Youngbae is listening to music again, and playing with Twitter on his smartphone.

“That took forever, Jiyong,” Youngbae said. “You’re lucky the rest of us took showers in the other washroom while you took your Hollywood bath.”

“My appearance takes effort,” Jiyong says, and Seungri preens. 

“Natural beauties like myself, of course, are wash and go!” He shouts across the room, and Youngbae shakes his fist at him, and Daesung shoves him into a chair, and Seungri laughs as he falls. Cute.

“Don’t touch my maknae,” Jiyong says, and he can play this game. Close, but not too close. It’s just a role, he thinks, not any different than the others. Jiyong’s got his own ways of keeping distance.

 

#

Jiyong can pretty much divide his relationship with Seungri into three stages. 

There was the first stage, which was the ‘Jiyong Resents Seungri’ stage. That stage wasn’t very long, because Seungri’s got the sort of personality where people feel close to him easily, wanting to get to know him or feeling like they already do far before Seungri would even think of telling them anything of importance. 

Then came the second stage, which Jiyong thinks made up the largest portion of their friendship, which was the ‘Tom and Jerry’ stage, where Jiyong was obsessed with the idea of catching Seungri and keeping him, and Seungri enjoyed the game. They both couldn’t manage to keep away from each other, intimate touches that meant nothing at all comprising the vast majority of their interactions. Jiyong could, during this stage, deny that he had any feelings for Seungri that went beyond protective older brother, most of the time. 

When Seungri composed his first song, Jiyong had listened to him describe it and knew that Seungri could understand a part of him that others never would; he’d felt butterflies in his stomach and he couldn’t explain it. He just closed his eyes and wished them away. Jiyong’s always been able to ignore the things that were inconvenient, anyway. Jiyong’s always been able to push aside the things he wants for the things he’s supposed to do. Jiyong’s allowed to be completely free with his art. He’ll trade the freedom with his life for that, anytime.

So he buried those flutters and flickers beneath responsibility and let Seungri come closer, sitting on Jiyong’s lap and playing with his fingers, playing with Jiyong’s hair. Jiyong didn’t think about things like necessity then, because Seungri smiled at him, making his dimples appear, and Jiyong didn’t really think beyond the moment, letting himself get caught up in the Lee Seungri show. Seungri liked his complete attention, anyway, and Jiyong couldn’t be distracted by trying to evaluate the extra, unnecessary feelings that wriggled about in his chest when Seungri laughed too hard and collapsed onto his chest, breath hot against Jiyong’s neck.

The third stage, the ‘now’ stage, is what Jiyong calls the ‘After the Kiss’ stage. Because really, Jiyong had been drunk, but even when Jiyong is drunk, Jiyong is not reckless. Even when Jiyong is drunk, he knows the motions his body is taking, and he knows the things he shouldn’t do. But Jiyong had seen Seungri under the light, and he’d acted, knowing he shouldn’t. He’d taken a step forward, and leaned up, and he’d kissed him. 

Seungri had pushed him away, and said “You’ll regret this in the morning.” Jiyong did. His gut had heaved, and Seungri had just comforted him, like Jiyong hadn’t crossed a line he had no right to cross, like he wasn’t freaking out in his head about all the times he and Jiyong had curled into the same bed, legs intertwined. 

The ‘After the Kiss’ stage is a whole lot of Jiyong trying to pretend that he was drunk enough not to have known better, and Jiyong pretending like the feelings he’d felt bubble up that night aren’t real. The ‘After the Kiss’ stage is a lot of Seungri telling Jiyong that everything is fine, that _they’re_ fine, and a lot of Jiyong seeing Seungri studying him, when he thinks Jiyong won’t notice, and a lot of Seungri forgetting that he’s supposed to have forgotten all about it, and flinching for the briefest moment when Jiyong reaches out to touch.

The ‘After the Kiss’ stage is Seungri moving even closer. Jiyong wonders if Seungri is trying to prove to the both of them that nothing’s changed, sliding into Jiyong’s personal space like he belongs there (and he does) and never retreating until the last possible moment.

The ‘After the Kiss’ stage is Jiyong fighting with his own heart, telling it to shut-up because there’s a lot more at stake here than can afford to be risked. The ‘After the Kiss’ stage is Seungri going on more and more dates, and Jiyong doesn’t even try to learn their names anymore. He used to know them all, but now Seungri goes through them too fast for Jiyong to bother. Jiyong just closes his eyes, and it doesn’t sting as long as he doesn’t think about it. 

The ‘After the Kiss’ stage is also Jiyong snapping at Seungri not to flirt with the dancers, and Seungri staring at him with wide eyes, and Jiyong wishing he could take it back. It’s Jiyong, despite all the odds, feeling even more possessive of Seungri than he’s ever felt before.

It’s Jiyong losing his mind.

#

The van-ride to SBS studios is short, and Jiyong passes the time playing rock-paper-scissors with Youngbae over who’ll accept the Mutizen award if they win today. Jiyong’s pretty sure Youngbae only wants to do it because he’s got a huge crush on IU, but he’d never tease him about it aloud. That’s more Seungri’s thing than his. Jiyong and Youngbae have a sort of truce about stuff like this that goes back to growing up together. It’s been Jiyong and Youngbae since the beginning, before there was BIGBANG or even before there was going to be a group. As trainees, they’d had to give up on most of their outside friendships, and it’d always been okay because they had each other.

Now they all have each other, but Jiyong always thinks of Youngbae as his oldest friend. Maybe his best friend. 

Once they’re on stage, it’s as seamless as always. They watch they playback, and Seungri’s wrist is perfect, and Jiyong smiles a little. He chances a look over at Seungri, who’s crowded in next to him so close that Jiyong can smell the lavender of his shampoo, and Seungri is watching him instead of the screen. “It’s perfect,” he whispers into Seungri’s ear, and Seungri shivers and glances away. 

“Of course it is,” he whispers back. “I’m amazing.”

“You are,” Jiyong says, and Seungri smiles a tiny smile, and Seunghyun stares at them both incredulously, and then sighs because he’s used to it. 

Later, they perform the second song live, and they _do_ win that Mutizen, and Jiyong lets Youngbae accept the award, even though he one their travel game. Jiyong is still feeling pumped though, adrenaline running through his veins, and Seunghyun and Daesung are spinning around in place, and Seungri is skipping over to him and throwing and arm over his shoulder.

He still smells like lavender, Jiyong thinks. And Jiyong doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He throws one arm around Seungri’s waist, and Seungri looks at him, face flushed and triumphant because Seungri loves winning, loves being told he’s the best, and Jiyong’s heart skips a beat.

He feels heavy and light at the same time, and Seungri is so very lovely right now, lips stretches and teeth so straight and white. Maknae doesn’t smoke. 

Jiyong doesn’t realize he’s staring until Seungri flushes, and disentangles himself from Jiyong, skipping over to Seunghyun as Jiyong tries to look calm and not like he’s falling apart.

_Fuck,_ Jiyong thinks, and it’s still weird. He and Seungri can pretend and pretend, and it’s still weird.

Backstage, they’re still shaking hands with everyone else, and Jiyong notices Seungri is gone. Usually he stays, hamming it up and wheedling Daesung into introducing him to all his friends, because Daesung is friends with all the prettiest girls, but Seungri is nowhere to be found. 

#

Jiyong doesn’t like to show his real emotions to people he’s not close to. He knows, as an idol, more of his life than other people’s is caught on tape, played back on televisions and computer screens around the world for the hungry eyes of people Jiyong doesn’t know and will never meet. He likes that, in some ways, because it’s a bigger audience for his craft. 

In other ways, he’d like to keep all of his real feelings to himself. With Seungri, though, Jiyong can’t help but feel, whether the cameras are there or not.

“Is it okay, to be so close?” Seungri asks, and Jiyong just laughs, tugging Seungri close enough that he can jump up on his back. Seungri’s hands reflexively grab Jiyong’s thighs and Jiyong digs his chin into Seungri’s shoulder.

“Why does it matter?” Jiyong asks. “We’re Nyongtori. People have to expect it by now.”

“People,” Seungri says. “Like fanservice?”

Jiyong pauses for a minute, and hops down from Seungri’s back, turning Seungri around to face him. Jiyong presses both palms flat against Seungri’s cheeks, mashing them.

“How I act with you isn’t fanservice,” Jiyong says, and the words tumble out slow and serious. “I just can’t help myself.”

“What?” Seungri says, and his eyes are wide and his face is flushed, mouth slightly compressed like a goldfish by Jiyong’s hands. 

“Maknae, you’re just too cute to resist,” Jiyong teases, and Seungri smiles so hard it moves Jiyong’s hands, so Jiyong drops them to his sides. Seungri reaches down and laces their fingers together. 

“I’m the cutest?” Seungri asks, and he uses his special voice, the one he saves for when he wants something from Jiyong. 

“Yes,” Jiyong says. “Absolutely.”

“Am I your favorite?” Seungri asks, and he looks so eager to please. Seungri is always so confident, so full of himself, except when he’s with Jiyong. He just wants to make Jiyong happy, and that’s okay, because Jiyong wants to make him happy too. 

“Yes,” Jiyong says. “Maknae is my favorite.”

#

BIGBANG’s dressing room, this week, is their favorite one, the one in the far corner, furthest from the stage. Youngbae and Daesung both like to pray before they go onstage, so they like the quiet. Seungri, on the other hand, hates it, and he usually wanders off to socialize long before BIGBANG has to perform.

It’s a long walk out, but a short walk back, because there’s no one in the halls. Everyone’s talking to each other backstage, still. He’s about to turn the corner, but pauses.

There are voices in the hallway. 

“What’s up with you, maknae?” Seunghyun says, and his voice is smooth and serious. Jiyong pauses, resting his forehead against the wall. “You’re acting bizarre.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Seungri says, and he’s using his people-pleaser voice, Jiyong notices. Seunghyun notices it too.

“Do you really think I’m going to buy that? I’ve known you too long,” Seunghyun says.

“It’s really nothing.” Seungri sighs. “I can deal with it myself.”

“You sound like our leader.”

“Do I?” Seungri muses, and then he laughs. “I guess I do.”

“I don’t have enough free time to talk around things, kid. Tell me what’s up.”

A pause. Jiyong twists his rings.

“Am I… likeable?” Seungri asks, and Seunghyun snorts.

“No,” Seunghyun says. “But we all like you anyway. Is this all about a girl?”

“I guess you could say that,” Seungri says hesitantly. “It’s about… feelings.”

“You should have a nice sit-down with Jiyong, then,” Seunghyun says. “He’s the one writing all the tortured love songs.”

“I… can’t talk to him about this,” Seungri says. “I can’t talk to anyone about this.” There’s a note of insecurity in his voice. It’s something Jiyong hasn’t heard in years, since Seungri was an anxious shadow, waiting for Jiyong to tell him ‘yes, you did well,’ after every move he made. 

Now Seungri is a grown man, and he’s found confidence somewhere else, maybe inside, and he smirks and charms his way into being the center of attention without a second thought. If there’s anyone built for show business, it’s Seungri, Jiyong’s always thought.

But now there’s a waver that Jiyong doesn’t understand. It doesn’t sound like his maknae. 

“Well, if you ever find yourself wanting to really talk about it,” Seunghyun says. “I guess I’m around.”

“Thanks,” Seungri says, and Jiyong’s palms clench into fists.

He doesn’t like that there are things that Seungri can’t confide in him now, because of one mistake. 

Seungri’s mouth was so soft. 

He waits a few more minutes for the hallway to clear, and then walks around the corner. Seungri is still standing there, leaning against the wall. 

His shoulders are curled forward, and he looks kind of defeated. It’s strange, and Jiyong hates it. 

“Hey,” Jiyong says, and Seungri looks up and smiles.

“Good show?” 

Jiyong’s eyes trace the line of Seungri’s jaw, the way it’s clenched tight. “It was alright,” Jiyong says. “I’d give it a seven out of ten.”

“What lost it the points?” Seungri asks. “Crowd was too loud? Too quiet?”

“I’m worried,” Jiyong says. He licks his lips. “About-“

“You shouldn’t worry,” Seungri says. “I’m sorry I’m being silly.”

“You’re not…” Jiyong starts, but Seungri smiles, wide, and Jiyong can’t see his eyes. Fake, fake, fake, in a way Seungri never is with Jiyong.

“You were really drunk, hyung. You could barely walk.”

Jiyong hadn’t been that drunk. Maybe a bottle of _soju_ , enough to make his head spin but not enough to send him to heave over the toilet. Jiyong had walked, under his own power, into the convenience store for Powerade. He’d bought two candy bars. “Maknae…”

“So I won’t read into it, okay?” Now there is a note of pleading in his voice, like more than anything, he wants Jiyong to drop the subject. The leather of Jiyong’s pants is sticking to his thighs, and his hair is still dripping, rivulets skating down his neck and dampening the back of his shirt. 

“Okay,” Jiyong says. “Whatever… whatever you want.”

“I want to forget it,” Seungri says, and he looks up, but he doesn’t look at Jiyong. He looks past him, like he’s talking to someone else down the hallway.

“Okay,” Jiyong says, and it’s the first time, since that morning, they’ve really talked about it, even if Jiyong’s not saying much. Jiyong’s not sure what he’d say, anyway. What he’d allow himself to say. Jiyong close his eyes for a minute, and painstakingly pulls all his feelings inside too, one by one, locking them up as quickly as he can. “When do you want to work on the songs?”

Seungri exhales, and finally looks at Jiyong straight on. “I can be free tonight,” he says, and Jiyong rubs his palms on his pants, but they’re leather, and they stick. Suddenly this all seems so ridiculous. Maybe Jiyong is making all of this worse.

“Okay,” Jiyong says. “I’ll call Teddy and see if he’s around.”

“Great,” Seungri says, and he smiles, and this one is more real. More like the smiles that Jiyong’s used to. Jiyong swallows, because his heart hurts. “See you around six? I promised Daesung I’d help him with his new laptop, so I’ll come after that.”

“Okay,” Jiyong says. “See you then.”

#

Jiyong has a lot of songs he writes that he doesn’t show anyone. Those are the messy ones; the ones where the words are shouting themselves inside his head, angry and fierce and Jiyong has to let them out, put them down, or he’ll scream. 

Songs about loneliness, and songs about the wrong kind of love, scary and intense and far too much for anyone else, and songs about how much he wants to crawl right out of his own skin and walk around that way, all exposed guts and tendon and bone. 

He hides them away on his hard drive, because they’re not for other people to see. Those are the songs Jiyong writes for himself, peeling back his flesh centimeter by centimeter just because he has no idea what he’ll find. Some days, Jiyong knows himself better than anyone, and some days, Jiyong thinks there’s still so much of himself he’s yet to find. 

“I want to see the one you were working on last night,” Seungri says to him one morning. “The one with the spooky melody.” Seungri is flopped onto Jiyong’s bed, sitting on Tom’s face, left hand smashing down Laura’s. His back is against the wall, and Jiyong sits up so that they are sitting side by side.

“It’s not ready,” Jiyong says. _I don’t want to show it to you._

“Hyung, whatever you make is awesome. I’m sure even if it’s not what you want yet, it’s already really good.”

“It’s… not for others,” Jiyong says, and he runs a hand through his hair. “Not everything I write is for showing to the world.”

“I’m not the world,” Seungri says. “I’m maknae, remember?” His arm wraps around Jiyong’s shoulder, and Jiyong tiredly leans his head against Seungri’s chest. He closes his eyes, and thinks about the song he wrote last night as Seungri’s finger draws small circles along his arm, distracting and soothing in the same breath. “It’s just me.”

Jiyong plays it for him, because he can’t say no when Seungri looks at him like that. Seungri leans forward at Jiyong’s desk, wearing Jiyong’s headphones, and listens. Jiyong’s heart is in his throat, because there are parts of himself he’s not sure he wants Seungri to see embedded in the chorus. Jiyong shivers as Seungri’s fingers tap aimlessly on the desktop.

“So possessive,” Seungri says. “Is this how you feel about _me_ , hyung?” Seungri asks. 

_Yes_ , Jiyong says, but only inside his head. Things can stay safe in there. Jiyong’s not ruining anything if he doesn’t say it aloud.

Jiyong ends up releasing ‘Obsession’ as a solo on GD&TOP. He only performs it once, and Seungri loves it.

“It’s one of my favorites, hyung,” Seungri says. “It feels raw.”

Well, Jiyong thinks, that’s exactly what it is. Raw.

#

“Hey,” Seungri says, and Jiyong looks up from the mixer to look at Seungri, who’s carrying a plastic bag of take-out and a couple of milk-coffees. Jiyong smiles at him, and Seungri does a silly pose. “Seungri is here, to rescue the tortured artist from his own pain and possible starvation.”

“You’re going to be an artist tonight, too,” Jiyong says, and Seungri grins, bounding over to Jiyong and squeezing into the chair with him. Jiyong wraps his arm around Seungri’s waist to steady them both, and Seungri looks onto the screen. 

“I’m always an artist,” Seungri says. “I did some of my solo mini-album by myself, remember?” He preens a bit, and Jiyong smiles, because he’d liked Seungri’s music. He’d liked the way Seungri looked on the stage all by himself, licking his lips and winking at the fangirls. Strong Baby, all grown up. 

“I do,” Jiyong says. “Ready to make some more music?”

“If you’re making it, it’ll be so good with or without me,” Seungri says with a laugh. “No pressure.”

Jiyong flicks at his forehead, and instead of dodging, Seungri leans into it, and Jiyong doesn’t hit him too hard, opting instead to tighten his other hand where it grips Seungri’s side. “No, this is a Nyongtori project. We need to work together, so it sounds like both of us,” Jiyong says, and Seungri grins excitedly. His breath smells minty, like Seungri’s been eating those Japanese breath-strips again, and Jiyong sort of likes the scent.

“I won’t let you down,” Seungri says, and Jiyong raises an eyebrow at him, as if to say ‘Of course you won’t, as if I’d let you,’ and someone clears his throat. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Teddy jokes, as he walks into the room and sits on a far chair, in front of the synth mixers.

“No,” Jiyong says. “Seungri was just telling me how much of an artist he is.”

“Well, I _am_ ,” Seungri says. “Just because I don’t sit and read emo poetry on the internet during my free time doesn’t mean I don’t have hidden depths.” Jiyong laughs delightedly and tickles Seungri, and Seungri laughs with him and squirms away, careful not to fall off the chair. 

Teddy sighs and wheels his chair closer. “Well, as much as I wish _all three of us_ could fit in that tiny chair meant for one person, I guess I’ll resign myself to third wheel-dom over here,” Teddy says, and Jiyong presses his cheek to Seungri’s and smirks. 

“Maknae is mine, anyway,” Jiyong says. “So I wouldn’t let you sit with us.”

Seungri laughs again and makes a grab for Jiyong’s rings. Jiyong lets him twist them around, as he uses his left hand to play some samples for Teddy. “What do you think of these?”

“I love this one,” Seungri says, on the third piece of music, pausing to listen carefully. “It’s so sweet.”

“I wrote this one for you,” Jiyong admits. “It only makes sense to use it now.”

Seungri beams at him, and Jiyong, inexplicably, wants to blush, like he’s a stupid teenager still. He bites down on his lip instead.

Seungri is off-limits, and none of this can mean anything, because there’s more on the line here than Jiyong’s foolish feelings. “I’ve got some lyric ideas,” Seungri says distractedly, and he’s tapping his fingers on the table in time to the beat. “First kiss,” he says. “Faasuto Kisu.”

Seungri, in the streelight. Seungri, lips so soft and warm under Jiyong’s own.

“Sounds cute,” Teddy says, and Jiyong pays attention. “You guys can wear candy-pink suits and the Japanese fanbase will eat it up.”

“They love me,” Seungri says with a triumphant smile. “I can wear whatever, and it doesn’t matter.”

“Ass,” Jiyong says, and he pinches at Seungri’s cheek until Seungri squeals. 

“Ow, ow, ow,” Seungri says, and Jiyong lets him go, and Seungri rubs at his cheek and squints at Jiyong unhappily. “They do!”

“What’s your unit going to be called?” Teddy asks, and Jiyong leans forward, resting his elbow on the counter, and his face on his left hand. 

“NYONGTORI,” Jiyong says. “What else would we call it?”

Seungri laughs. “So cute!” He says. “Our fans made a cute name for us.”

“So cute,” Jiyong agrees, and Teddy looks at them both, face mildly bemused. 

“What else would you call it, indeed,” he says, and he looks at Jiyong and Jiyong wonders if Teddy can see through him. It’s an irrational fear, but Jiyong worries about it all the time. Jiyong can’t afford to let his guard down, because he’s BIGBANG’s leader, and he’s pretty sure that after the incident in 2011, Jiyong’s used up his get-out-of-jail-free card with the press and his fans. 

Teddy isn’t either of those things, but Jiyong needs to be more careful. Needs to be professional, and keep his distance, because if he doesn’t he’ll get too comfortable. If he doesn’t, he’ll slip up.

Seungri shows them the lyrics he’d already started thinking about, a little, and as he translates them into Korean for them, looking at Jiyong every line to gauge his response, Jiyong thinks they’re perfect.

“I love it,” Jiyong admits. “It’s fresh and clean, and suits the whimsical nature of the melody. I think we’ve got a single.”

“Me too,” Teddy says, and Seungri smiles so bright that Jiyong feels like he could work through the rest of the night on the fuel of it. 

Seungri always blossoms underneath the sun of compliments and praise. 

“First Kiss,” Jiyong muses, and it’s Seungri, in the streetlight, the taste of _soju_ on his tongue. 

“The first kiss is important, right?” Seungri asks. “You always remember the first kiss you have with someone, no matter what happens.”

“No matter what?” Jiyong queries, and Seungri smiles, and looks at Teddy, not at Jiyong, as he answers. 

“First kisses are a way of saying ‘I like you’, right?” Seungri says. “I remember every time someone has said ‘I like you’ to me.”

“You’re a famous idol,” Teddy says. “And with the number of girlfriends you’ve supposedly had, that must be quite a few times to remember.”

“I like being liked,” Seungri says. “It’s not a problem to remember them.”

Seungri’s tongue peeks out and licks over his lips, and Jiyong wonders if he’s remembering the way Jiyong has tasted, that night.

“It’ll be a cute promotion,” Jiyong says. “And that’s the image we’re trying to sell.”

“Nyongtori,” Seungri says, and he hooks his ankle around Jiyong’s, and Jiyong forgets all about extra things, and focuses on how happy it makes him to be with Seungri just like this.

They eat their takeout stooped over the mixing board, Seungri half lying on Jiyong’s back as he hums along, and Jiyong lets himself get lost in the music as Seungri’s breath tickles at his ear.

#

The first time Jiyong realizes he likes men, _like that_ , isn’t until he’s nineteen. 

He’s at a private party, and he’s not drunk, because he’s got another year before he’s old enough to drink. He is exhausted, because they’re coming in from a performance, and it’s Se7en’s manager’s birthday, so Jiyong is trying to hold on to the energy he has left so he can muster up a strong ‘Happy Birthday’ when the time comes to sing. Youngbae doesn’t seem to be having that problem, as he’s dancing around and tossing streamers everywhere as Seunghyun attempts to get Daesung to give him a piggy-back ride while Se7en takes videos of the persuasion tactics with his cellphone, vowing never to lose it all the while. His girlfriend, Hanbyul, watches over his shoulder, her legs looking miles long in her high-heeled sandals. Gummy is watching them all like they’re just kids, and he guesses, to her, they are. 

Seungri, Jiyong notices, is sleeping on the couch, curled up into a ball and looking so innocent in sleep. Seungri’s anything but innocent when he’s awake, but with his eyes closed like that, you can’t see his devious plotting, only his angelic, soft features, and the way his hair is so dark and his skin is so pale. 

One of Se7en’s dancers is watching Jiyong, though, when Jiyong continues his survey of the room. Jiyong stares back, and the dancer raises an eyebrow. Jiyong feels warm, and there’s something exciting in the way the dancer eyes him. It feels a little like when Jiyong was sixteen and he got his first handjob in the restroom of a noraebang from a girl from his school with the prettiest smile and the smallest hands. 

Jiyong ends up blowing the dancer in an abandoned office, and when it’s all said and done, and Jiyong’s back at the party, singing Happy Birthday to the manager, Seungri looks up at Jiyong and smiles, and Jiyong can’t take his eyes off of Seungri’s mouth.

“Hyung,” Seungri says. “Where did you go?”

“I just went out to get some air,” Jiyong lies, and his jaw hurts, and his throat is dry, and his mouth tastes like come and forbidden desires.

“I missed you,” Seungri says, and Jiyong rolls his eyes.

“Liar; you were sleeping.”

“When I was awake, though,” Seungri says. “Then I was missing you.”

“It’s true,” Gummy says. “He was looking for you like a puppy who’d lost his master.”

Seungri blushes. “It wasn’t all that bad,” Seungri says, but he overplays it, looking up at Jiyong through his lashes and smiling sweetly, and Gummy grins. “Your maknae is cute,” she says, and Jiyong grabs Seungri in a headlock and fakes a glare. 

“And he’s mine, so don’t get any ideas,” Jiyong says, and Seungri pushes at him, but the protestations are weak, because Seungri loves it when Jiyong is possessive, because it means Jiyong is thinking about him, and Seungri _always_ likes that. 

“Property of Jiyong, huh?” Gummy says, and she seems amused. “Kids these days.”

Later, when Jiyong is alone in his room, Tom and Laura wound together beneath him, Jiyong recalls the way the dancer’s cock had felt in his mouth, and the way Jiyong had felt like he was going to burn himself up with all the new things. But when Jiyong comes, hand curved around his erection, he’s not thinking of the dancer at all.

That night is also the first night that Jiyong realizes he might have feelings about Seungri that it could Very Bad to have.

But in the light of the morning, Jiyong can push them away, and he does, locking them up tight in the strongbox of things he’ll fully examine when he’s done with being an idol. Until then, Jiyong will pretend.

#

Yang Hyun Suk loves the songs. Jiyong catches him humming one to his daughter one afternoon as he carries her in his arms, the two of them wandering from practice room to practice room to check in on what the talents are doing. She giggles when he gets to the chorus and whispers “Faaaaasto Kisu” into her cheek, and claps her hands cheerfully.

“It’s catchy, right?” Yang Hyun Suk says, and Jiyong nods and Seungri beams, and takes to the choreography even more enthusiastically. 

The choreography is simple. NYONGTORI dance in unison a lot, and ultimately make a lot of really over-exaggeratedly cute faces at each other that Jiyong tries not to let make his heart stop. 

Jiyong, toward the end, always leans up like he’s going to kiss Seungri’s mouth, but then leaves a peck on his forehead or cheek, which makes Seungri blush and makes their back-up dancers laugh and clap. 

“It’s perfect,” Miyong says, and she covers her hand to hide her giggle. “I love that part. Girls will love that part. So cute.”

“I think so too,” Jiyong says, and Seungri scratches irritatedly at the side of his head.

“I don’t think this promotion cycle is going to result in many dates for me,” Seungri says. “As this is possibly the gayest thing I have ever participated in.” 

Jiyong laughs because his chest feels tight. He’s not really sure what to say about that. Still, the idea of maknae staying home with him in the Japanese apartment instead of going out with different girls every night pleases him, even if it’ll just mean a different sort of torture. “Liar. You totally wore a ballet costume once, and who knows how many times Seunghyun has tried to slip you the tongue during drama parodies.”

“Haha,” Seungri says. “You say _tried_ like he hasn’t succeeded. Oh god, Secret BIGBANG. The memories still haunt me.”

Jiyong’s always been a little bit of a masochist.

“Maknae is mine, anyway,” Jiyong coos, and Seungri smiles and looks at Jiyong out of the corner of his eye, still posturing for their dances. 

“So you say, so you say,” Seungri says. “I might be my own, don’t you think?” He puts his hands on his hips, because the sweatpants he’s wearing today don’t have pockets, and Jiyong can’t keep himself from lingering on the peek of skin between Seungri’s sweatpants and tank top. 

“No,” Jiyong says, and Miyong laughs again.

“Nyongtori,” she says. “Seungri, you can’t fight it.”

“I haven’t tried to in years,” Seungri says quietly, and Jiyong blinks twice, because Seungri’s voice… Jiyong leans over to the floor and picks up his water bottle, taking a healthy swig, before offering it to Seungri. 

Seungri opens his mouth, like he always does, demanding Jiyong do it for him, and Jiyong pours water into it, careful not to spill it on Seungri’s face. Seungri swallows, and Jiyong doesn’t watch the movement of his throat.

“Awww,” another of the dancers says, and Seungri steps back, wiping at his lips with his hand and looking out to the side. “When’s the wedding?”

“Maknae wouldn’t marry me,” Jiyong says, and he somehow keeps a straight face. “He wouldn’t want to disappoint all his girlfriends.”

“Hyung is just fooling around, anyway,” Seungri says, and he’s studying his shoes. Still, his tone is strange. “It’s all just a game we play.”

“Maknae is my favorite, though,” Jiyong says, and Seungri squats down, shuffling through his backpack. 

He emerges with his phone, and waves it at them in lieu of an excuse. He steps out into the hallway, and Jiyong gets caught up in a conversation with Miyong about Prada’s Fall 2013 collection, and before he knows it, it’s been fifteen minutes and maknae still hasn’t come back.

Jiyong steps out into the hallway, and he spies Seungri sitting on the floor, phone pressed to his ear as he laughs into the receiver. “So I’ll pick you up at eight?” Seungri says after a moment. “Okay, sounds great.”

“Hot date tonight, maknae?” Jiyong asks, and Seungri looks up at Jiyong but there’s nothing in his eyes. His camera-face. 

“Yeah,” Seungri says. “It’s nice to feel wanted.”

“I don’t make you feel wanted?” Jiyong asks, before he can stop himself. He puts a big smile on his face, to make it a joke, but Seungri’s smile fades a bit in response. Jiyong wonders if that kiss will always be between them.

Jiyong doesn’t like it when things are his fault. 

“Oh, you do,” Seungri says. “But that’s just for fun, right?” Seungri runs a hand through his hair. “I’m an easy target. Pick on the maknae.”

Jiyong grabs Seungri’s wrist, letting his fingers lock around it loosely, and his thumb strokes the skin on the inside, there, for a moment, as Seungri toys with the volume control on his phone. 

Maknae has a date, and Jiyong has responsibilities. “Right,” Jiyong says, and Seungri frees his wrist from Jiyong’s hold. 

“Well, let’s get back to work!” Seungri says cheerfully, and he hooks his thumbs on his elastic waistband. “I’ve got to be out of here by seven or so.” 

Jiyong throws an arm around Seungri’s shoulders, squishing him a little, and Seungri leans into the touch, just a little. 

“Yes,” Jiyong says, and whatever is between them… It can’t be more than this. “Let’s go, Victory.”

Seungri gives him the ‘V’ with his fingers, and Jiyong focuses on the choreography, and the music, and everything but how he feels like crying.

#

Seungri is the perfect name for Little-Seunghyun, who won’t always be little. Victory. Jiyong likes the way it sounds on his lips, rolling off his tongue and sounding sweet in the air, in Korean and in English.

Seungri likes to win. He likes to win Jiyong’s attention, the world’s attention, and he covets all those eyes because they reassure him that he’s really here, that he’s famous and special and all those things he’s always wanted to be. He craves it in the same way Jiyong craves it, but he’s more honest about it, demanding attention with his loud voice and his puppy-dog eyes, and he’s pretty enough that everyone gives it to him.

Plus, at the end of the day, it’s Jiyong he wants to look at him most, and Jiyong thinks that’s sort of a Victory too.

#

Their suits are the color of cotton candy. Jiyong personally adds rhinestones and appliqués to the lapels, and Seungri laughs and says they should wear bow-ties, so the do. Jiyong’s shirt has ruffles along the outer edges of the buttons, but Seungri’s doesn’t; he’d taken one look at Jiyong’s choice and said “Abso-fucking-lutely not,” and Jiyong had already anticipated that, and gave Seungri a plain tuxedo shirt to wear underneath his. 

They’re shooting the album covers today, so the make-up artist takes extra care with Jiyong’s eyeliner, making it slightly darker and thicker because she’s using brown instead of black. “It’ll make your eyes look less intense,” she says, like Jiyong doesn’t read all the same beauty magazines she does. “To suit your cute image, this time around.”

It’s weird to be on set with just Seungri. Usually, Jiyong is constantly having to redirect maknae’s attention to himself, when it strays, grabbing at him playfully until Seungri’s making faces at him and doing tiny impersonations just to make Jiyong laugh.

But today Seungri is completely focused on Jiyong, and Jiyong likes that. He thinks Seungri likes it too, because Seungri is acting even more over the top than usual, hamming it up so much that Jiyong’s pretty sure the camera guy would want to slap him if Jiyong wasn’t playing right back, which results in some ridiculous photos that will probably all make the CD booklet. 

Yang Hyun Suk shows up halfway through the photoshoot, and watches them closely, which would make Jiyong feel nervous, only he’s distracted because Seungri has jumped on his back and is pretending like he’s about to take a bite out of Jiyong’s face, and Jiyong is laughing, and wondering, a little, if his suit is getting wrinkled. 

“Jiyong,” Yang Hyun Suk says, when the photographer calls it a wrap, and Jiyong is laughing and following maknae back toward the dressing room. “I need to talk to you.”

“Yes, sir,” Jiyong says, and something about the serious look on Yang Hyun Suk’s makes Jiyong anxious. “About the shoot today, we were just having fun, and since the theme of the mini-album is-“

“It’s fine,” Yang Hyun Suk says. “The photos look great.” He pauses at the edge of the set, his baseball cap pulled low enough that Jiyong can’t see his eyes. “It’s not that.”

“Then…” Jiyong swallows. “Then what is it?” Jiyong immediately starts playing with his rings, twisting the skull one around and around and around as he waits. He wonders what it might be. Last time, Yang Hyun Suk had told him he was being investigated for drug use. Jiyong’s been more careful. There shouldn’t be anything to call him on.

“Jiyong, you know that the band comes first right?” Yang Hyun Suk says, and Jiyong doesn’t follow.

“Of course it does,” Jiyong says, wondering what his boss is talking about. “It’s always come first. I don’t know what I could have done to make you think it didn’t, but as leader-“

“I’m glad you’re all close, but BIGBANG is also a business,” Yang Hyun Suk continues. “And we don’t want anything to get in the way of that. Like a scandal.”

“A scandal?” Jiyong asks, and realization is making a home in his belly, an uncomfortable one that makes Jiyong shift his weight from foot to foot. “I…”

“It’s fine, if it’s for show,” Yang Hyun Suk says, and waves his hand in the direction of the set, where minutes ago Jiyong had been playing with Seungri, goofing off in front of the cameras. “But if it’s real, it becomes a big scandal.”

“Real?” Jiyong says. “That’s the last thing you need to worry about, sir.”

“Is it?” Yang Hyun Suk asks vaguely. “Jiyong, you’ve always been good at keeping secrets. But Seungri isn’t. Seungri’s very honest in everything he does. If there’s something going on, I need to know about it, because that’s the only way I can keep it out of the press.”

“There’s nothing,” Jiyong says. “There’s nothing, sir.” And resolve hardens like coal into a diamond. _Nothing._

“If there is, I expect to know,” Yang Hyun Suk says. “I don’t want to control you, but this is a business and-“

“You don’t have anything to worry about, sir,” Jiyong says. Yang Hyun Suk nods, and excuses himself, and Jiyong runs to the bathroom. 

He kneels in front of the toilet and vomits into the bowl, shaking, as he replays the conversation over and over again in his head. “I’m so stupid,” he says aloud to himself, and it rings in the empty bathroom. 

The door opens.

“Are you all right, hyung?” Seungri asks. “One of the staff said they saw you run in here…”

“Go away,” Jiyong croaks, and his throat is _raw_ and he can’t seem to stop shivering.

“You sound terrible,” Seungri says, and he pushes into the stall, squatting down and wrapping his arms loosely around Jiyong’s waist. “What happened?”

Jiyong lets himself lean back against Seungri’s chest. “Nothing,” Jiyong says. “Nothing at all.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” Seungri says. 

“It has to be,” Jiyong replies, and then he heaves again. Seungri stands up and goes to the sink. He wets a paper towel and returns, pressing it to Jiyong’s forehead.

“Does it?” Seungri asks, and he’s pensive, Jiyong can hear the inflection in his voice even over the roaring in his own ears. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

“I’m weak,” Jiyong says. “I have to make myself be strong.”

“You’re the strongest person I know,” Seungri says, and Jiyong’s hands hold the edge of the toilet bowl in a white knuckled grip, and he doesn’t _feel_ strong. “Let’s get you home.”

Seungri insists on taking Jiyong home himself, instructing their driver to take them both to Jiyong’s flat, and he’s got an arm across Jiyong’s back the whole time, and Jiyong doesn’t resist, just allows Seungri to fuss over him because he can tell it makes Seungri feel better.

Jiyong walks straight in and shucks his shoes and jacket, leaving Seungri at the door. He can hear Seungri turning Jiyong’s shoes the way Jiyong likes them, and hanging Jiyong’s jacket in the closet. He can hear Seungri doing something else in the living room, but Jiyong just wraps his arms around himself and makes a ball of his body on the bed. Tomorrow, it’ll be fine. Tomorrow.

It’s not until around nine, as Seungri comes into Jiyong’s room to curl up around him, turning Jiyong so that Seungri’s nose can press into Jiyong’s neck, that Jiyong remembers Seungri had plans.

“Weren’t you going out with your friends tonight in Gangnam, maknae?”

“You don’t really think I’m going anywhere, right?” Seungri asks, stretching his legs and forcing Jiyong to shift to give him more room. “I canceled, obviously.”

“Oh,” Jiyong says, and Seungri exhales. His breath his hot on Jiyong’s neck. 

“I have to be up at six for a radio interview,” Seungri says. “Don’t let me oversleep.”

“I thought you were taking care of me?” Jiyong jokes half-heartedly, but he’s already sliding his hands soothingly up and down Seungri’s back, lulling him to sleep just like he did when Seungri was still just a kid. When they were both still just kids. 

“I am,” Seungri says. “By letting you take care of me.”

Jiyong wants to kiss him. This, Jiyong thinks, is Heartbreak.

 

#

Jiyong worries. 

When Seungri’s solo album drops, Jiyong badgers Seungri, his manager, and their staff with countless questions and demands. “Please take care of Seungri’s mental state. Please make sure he eats.” He says, and Seungri’s manager rolls his eyes and sighs, because he knows all these things.

Jiyong says them anyway. “Make sure he doesn’t catch a cold. He like tea, make him drink tea.” Jiyong hates that he’s not there to do it, because it’s his job, and he feels better when he knows everything is exactly right. “It’s better if he’s always warm,” Jiyong tells them, and he feels this combination of helpless and proud, because Seungri’s never done a show without them and as much as Jiyong wishes he was there to watch over him, he knows Seungri can do it.

“My manager says you’re driving him insane,” Seungri says thickly, later, when he comes home to the dorms and sees Jiyong waiting for him on the couch. “Thank you.”

“I want to take care of you,” Jiyong says. “Because you’re my favorite.”

“I know,” Seungri says. 

In the end, it’s Jiyong who gets sick, working himself into a flu and a fever that leaves him shaking and delirious. 

“There’s no way I can let you perform,” the PD says, and Jiyong shivers and quakes and protests, even as his own manager presses a cold-pack to his forehead and guides him to a chair. “You need to go to the hospital.”

It’s only the fact that Seungri looks like he’s about to cry that gets Jiyong to agree to go to the clinic. 

Seungri visits him at the clinic, eyes wet and shivering because it’s cold, and Jiyong fusses. “Maknae, take care of yourself,” he snaps, and Seungri looks at him incredulously.

“Who’s in the hospital bed?” Seungri says, and he sits on the edge of it, finding Jiyong’s hand and wrapping his own hand around it.

“Your hands are cold,” Jiyong frets, and Seungri laughs, and moves closer to Jiyong, who pulls away. “I’ll make you sick.”

“Take care of yourself,” Seungri chides, and he links their fingers together. 

“I feel better if I can watch out for you,” Jiyong whispers, and Seungri chuckles. 

“Okay,” he says. “You can watch me on TV tomorrow, then, and tell me what you think.”

“Okay,” Jiyong says. “I’ll text you everything you did wrong.”

“Are you sure I’m your favorite?” Seungri teases. “You’re a bully.”

Jiyong’s vision is dimming, and it’s hot and cold then hot again, but Seungri’s smile is an anchor. “Of course you’re my favorite,” Jiyong says. “I love you.”

Jiyong can feel Seungri squeeze his hand. “I know,” Seungri says. “I love you too.”

Jiyong sometimes wonders what parts of it all were figments of his imagination, because Seungri never mentions it, but Jiyong holds that memory close to his heart, and when he’s alone, he pulls it out, letting it bloom as his heart beats steadily to the beat of his self-denial.

#

Youngbae talks to Jiyong about Seungri only once, when they’re both nineteen and Jiyong’s started dating girls in secret. It’s after the party, and Jiyong knows his behavior’s been erratic. He’s almost surprised it takes them so long to call him on it. 

But that’s not what Youngbae wants to talk about.

“The thing with Seungri,” he says. “Is it like the thing with girls?”

Youngbae phrases it casually, but Jiyong can hear the hesitance and curiosity in his voice. Youngbae is sheltered, and sort of straight-laced. Jiyong is warming him up to the idea of eyeliner but it’s an uphill battle. 

Jiyong is starting to think that their differences will only become starker as Jiyong discovers, more and more, that he’s not quite like anyone else, in any aspect of his life.

“What do you mean?” Jiyong asks, and he pulls on the string of his hoodie, causing the fabric of the hood to bunch up on one side awkwardly in a way that decidedly isn’t cool. Youngbae frowns. 

“You know,” Youngbae says, and then he shifts uncomfortably, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. “Like, I dunno. Like, is it like… _that_?”

_Like that_ , Jiyong thinks, and he gnaws on his lower lip, looking down at his bitten down fingernails and considering what to say. Youngbae is staring at him, like he’s trying to read the truth in Jiyong’s wrinkled forehead and hunched shoulders. 

“It can’t be,” Jiyong says, and that’s true enough. Youngbae exhales. 

“Okay,” he says, but then he pauses, and he looks like he’s not sure what he wants to say next. “But you know that…”

“Know…?” Jiyong says, and Youngbae reaches up and fingers the massive silver cross hanging from his neck, running his thumb along the ripples that form the texture of the pendant.

“If it’s Jiyong, it’s okay,” Youngbae says. “No matter what, Jiyong is Jiyong. Seungri is Seungri. You know?”

“I…” Jiyong starts, and he feels a little sick. “Okay,” he says, in a tiny voice, and Youngbae awkwardly pats his shoulder. 

“I just… You worry so much,” Youngbae says. “About everyone but you. I didn’t want you to worry about this. If you were.”

“Thanks,” Jiyong whispers, and thinks he needs to become better at hiding, if Youngbae can see. Youngbae, who is somberly supportive, even as Jiyong defies everything he’s been raised to believe.

But Youngbae never mentions it again, and Jiyong tucks the conversation away, just like he does with everything else he doesn’t allow himself to dwell on.

#

Seungri is always overly excited on airplanes. Jiyong’s not quite sure what there is to get excited about, since a plane trip to Japan, into Narita airport, only takes a couple of hours, and Seungri isn’t a huge fan of airplane peanuts. 

But his enthusiasm, this time, is contagious, and Jiyong doesn’t have Seunghyun’s steadying presence judging him from the seat behind him, and so there’s nothing to keep him and Seungri from giggling and flirting outrageously with the stewardess, who seems amused every time she walks by and they make a pass at her.

When they land, she seems a little sad to see them go, and even their managers are laughing, as they scan the people around them to check for anyone suspicious.

“It’s kind of fun,” Seungri says, as their managers collect their bags while they wait in the car, making sure the Japanese paparazzi get as few pictures as possible of them because Jiyong’s not wearing any make-up. “Just the two of us.”

“A Nyongtori vacation,” Jiyong agrees, and Seungri snorts.

“A Nyongtori vacation with lots of work,” he says. “We’ve got such a full schedule next week I might die.”

“At least we’ll be doing it together?” Jiyong offers, and Seungri brightens. 

“Yes,” Seungri says. “And we’ll do it all in those terrible suits.”

“Those suits are _amazing_ ,” Jiyong says, raising an eyebrow. “Your plebian fashion sense-“

“Yeah, I know,” Seungri says. “All my clothes are boring.” He runs his hands along the denim of his jeans, his ‘G-Dragon jeans’, and smiles. “Well, not all of them.”

“It’s okay, maknae. Not everyone can be sartorially inclined.”

“And yet I get all the dates,” Seungri says, and Jiyong pushes his sunglasses up to look at Seungri incredulously. 

“Just because I’m not always talking about my dates,” Jiyong says. “Doesn’t mean I’m not having them.”

Seungri frowns. “You’re keeping secrets from me?” he teases, and he’s laughing, but his lips are pulling downward at the edges, and Seungri’s never been known for his subterfuge. 

“Not really,” Jiyong says placatingly. “You’d know if they were important.” Jiyong slips his hands into the pockets of his jacket and spreads his legs a little, letting his head rest against the back of the seat. 

“They’re all important,” Seungri says, and scoots closer to Jiyong, so that their knees rest against each other.

“Don’t be jealous, maknae,” Jiyong says as his manager gets into the car, Seungri’s manager double checking that everything is in the trunk. “You know you’re my number one.”

“But that’s just for fun,” Seungri says, and Jiyong closes his eyes. “I want you to tell me, okay, if there’s ever someone you love.”

“Okay, maknae,” Jiyong says, and Seungri, now, is quiet. “I’ll make sure to tell you.”

“You’d better,” Seungri says, and Jiyong pretends he’s falling asleep.

“It’s cute, how you guys are so close,” Seungri’s manager says, after a while. Jiyong doesn’t move, just shifts a bit so his head is resting against the glass. It’ll be another thirty minutes before they get to their flat, which is big enough for five but will only be hosting two, this time around. 

“It’s just a game, for hyung,” Seungri says. “It’s because it’s easy to play around with me.”

“Jiyong cares a lot for you,” Jiyong’s manager says. “He’s constantly worried.”

“He’s leader,” Seungri says. “It’s his job.” Seungri sighs. “I know he cares about me, I just don’t know how much of his behavior is real and how much is for show.”

“Does anyone?” Jiyong’s manager asks. “About anything?”

“Maybe not,” Seungri admits. “Mysterious G-Dragon.” Jiyong can feel Seungri’s hand fall to his knee, warm and familiar. “Sometimes I wish I did, though.”

“Take a look inside Kwon Jiyong’s mind?”

“Yeah,” Seungri says, and Jiyong wants to laugh, because with Seungri, he’s the most honest he feels comfortable being. Seungri, Jiyong thinks, might be the only person who has seen all the worst parts of Jiyong; the parts he’d never show to anyone else who wasn’t in BIGBANG, maybe not even to anyone who wasn’t Seungri himself, because Seungri makes Jiyong want to show him everything. “But what I really want is to look into his heart.”

If Seungri were to look inside Jiyong’s heart, he’d probably just find himself there, anyway. Jiyong can’t help but think that might finally be enough to scare Seungri away.

#

“You’re weird,” Youngbae says, and Jiyong puffs out his cheeks, crossing his legs and leaning forward over them. 

“What do you mean?” Jiyong asks lightly. “I’m not weird.”

“You’ve been acting weird since that manager’s birthday party,” Seunghyun says. “I keep thinking you’re going to tell me you’re having a crisis about getting old, or a crisis about eating too much cake, or a crisis about how goddamn _sexy_ Se7en’s girlfriend is-“

“These are all _your_ crises, TOP-hyung,” Daesung says. “Don’t project.”

“I’m not having a crisis,” Jiyong says, and he’s mostly not lying, unless you count the fact that yesterday he curled up in the shower for two hours and just shivered, thinking about the way he had liked the way that dancer’s cock had felt along his tongue, and thinking about the way that Seungri was all grown up and Jiyong hadn’t noticed until he suddenly _had_ , and he’d noticed in all the wrong ways. 

“Yes you are,” Seunghyun says. “And maybe you should be having a crisis about not eating _enough_ cake.” He scratches at his head. “You look dead. Maybe your blood sugar is low.”

Seungri peeks into the room. “Good morning!” He says brightly, and the stiffness melts out of Jiyong as Seungri walks in and squeezes onto the loveseat with Jiyong and Youngbae. Jiyong shifts to accommodate him, and Youngbae just huffs and gets up.

“That’s a fight I won’t win,” Youngbae says, when Jiyong looks at him curiously. “I might as well not waste my energy.” He tugs on a cornrow, and squints. Jiyong shrugs and flops one of his legs over Seungri’s, ignoring the way the brush of Seungri’s hand across his thigh in mild protest makes his stomach roll with anxiousness and pleasure all mixed together.

“Maknae always wins,” Jiyong says, pecking Seungri on the cheek. “That’s why his name is Seungri, after all.”

“I was wrong,” Seunghyun groans. “Plenty of sugar in you, after all.” He flexes his long legs. “Stop molesting the kid.”

Seungri blushes and wriggles and compromises, turning so his legs are tangled with Jiyong’s below the knee. 

It would be easier, Jiyong thinks, on both of them, if Jiyong could pull away. If Jiyong could stop touching, and drawing closer. Maybe he should make himself let go, wean himself off of Seungri’s hesitant smiles and gentle touches. Off of the way Seungri’s hair smells like lavender and feels like silk between his fingers.

“I like being hyung’s favorite,” Seungri says.

“Our poor maknae has Stockholm syndrome,” Youngbae says, and Seunghyun laughs and Daesung just watches, in that calm and steady way he has that reveals nothing of what he’s thinking. 

Maybe he should, Jiyong thinks, but then Seungri sparkles, and Jiyong thinks that maybe he doesn’t know how to.

#

Their first promotion in Japan is a morning talk show called ‘Waratte Iitomo,” where the host, a middle aged man with a killer sense of comedic timing, shakes hands with them before the show and welcomes them back, chatting happily with Seungri until he disappears to start his show. 

They’re introduced, and there are cheers, and Jiyong links his arm with Seungri’s and the cheers get louder, and he waggles his fingers at the audience as Seungri soaks it all in like a sponge.

They play a game where they have to guess how many people in he audience already bought their mini-album, or _single_ , because they’re in Japan and everything’s got different names, and then they have to reveal the top three foods they like to eat in Japan. 

Seungri is pretty much in charge, as usual, because Jiyong’s not at all confident with his Japanese, and he hates relying on the interpreter. He’d rather just watch Seungri, anyway, practically dancing on his stool as he animatedly converses with the host.

“How does it feel, working alone, without the rest of the group?” the interviewer asks, and Seungri translates for Jiyong. Jiyong smiles at Seungri, and then at the interviewer.

“It’s so much fun,” Jiyong says, and this time, Jiyong’s interpreter translates. “Seungri works so hard, and you can probably tell he is a really entertaining guy.”

“Absolutely,” the interviewer says, and then Seungri is talking too fast for Jiyong to keep up, gesturing with his hands and flushing excitedly, shifting from side to side and occasionally hitting Jiyong with his elbow, to Jiyong’s amusement.

“He’s talking about how much he admires you,” the interpreter whispers into Jiyong’s ear, and Jiyong watches Seungri more closely, noticing the now the way Seungri keeps cutting eyes at Jiyong, almost like he’d be embarrassed if he thought Jiyong knew what he was saying.

Whatever else he’s doing, the audience loves it, and Seungri adores the attention, laughing and talking even louder, and Jiyong’s so proud of him.

Seungri is so much better with people than Jiyong will ever be. For all his talents, Jiyong is eccentric, and he likes people, and he’s friendly, but he’s not really interested in getting to know most people on a personal level. He’s too closed off for that.

But Seungri is like an open book, and people just gravitate toward him, because he’s loud and funny and he _shines_ , regardless of what else is happening, he’s there, all eyes on him. He likes that.

He thinks, sometimes, if Seungri hadn’t become a singer, he’d be doing something else where he could be surrounded with people all the time. Jiyong can’t imagine a Seungri who isn’t performing.

Jiyong feels special, mostly, that of all the people that move toward Seungri, into his orbit or charisma, it is Jiyong whose eyes he craves the most.

“You admire me?” Jiyong elbows him playfully backstage. “You say pretty things for the camera, maknae.”

“I really do,” Seungri says. “Admire you.”

“Even now?” Jiyong asks, and there are so many things he’s not saying, about the marijuana incident and the ‘Heartbreaker’ scandal, and the kiss, that stupid kiss that had somehow changed everything. 

“Yeah,” Seungri says, and his face is unusually serious. He reaches out and cups Jiyong’s face in his hand, thumb resting at the edge of Jiyong’s lips. “Even now, hyung is still the person I admire most.”

Jiyong’s heart is racing like a rabbit, and Seungri’s lashes, dark with mascara, make him look mysterious. It’s too much—too serious, and Jiyong can’t…

Jiyong tugs Seungri’s hand from his face, and punches him lightly in the arm. “Don’t touch my face,” Jiyong says. “You’ll mess up my make-up.”

“Right,” Seungri says, and Jiyong ignores the shadow of hurt in Seungri’s eyes that he manages to catch before Seungri hides it with a wide grin. “I forgot that not everyone is naturally pretty, like me.”

“Asshole,” Jiyong says, and his stomach unclenches as they fall into a familiar pattern. 

“You’re just mad because I’m the _visuals_ ,” Seungri says, and the moment passes.

Jiyong is a coward, but he’d rather be a coward and keep everything than be brave and lose it all.

# 

The first time Jiyong gave up on Seungri, they were both impossibly young. 

“Please stop liking me,” Seungri had said, and pulled away from Jiyong, flushing as girls whispered behind their hands at the intimate way Jiyong marked his claim, too close for public and too close for friends.

Jiyong had laughed, but really, he hadn’t thought it was funny. He didn’t know what the feelings meant, or why Seungri’s words cut so deep, but he remembers them. He remembers them when he’s twenty-four and standing on the balcony of their Japanese apartment, trying to make sense of the way his heart won’t let Seungri go.

#

“Let’s go out tonight,” Seungri says, as they climb out of the taxi. “I’m so pumped, for some reason!” 

Jiyong’s not sure what that reason is, what with them having performed three times today, but that’s one of the fundamental differences between them. Jiyong feels his most powerful and strong when he’s allowed to be alone, or with people he’s not expected to entertain. He feels so rested when he’s writing music in the wee hours of the morning, breaking dawn streaming through the windows as his weary eyes scrawl out lyrics onto the pages of his notebook. Even though he’s tired, he feels charged. 

Seungri is the opposite. Seungri soaks up the energy of others like it’s food, or like he’s a sunflower, blooming under their applause and praise and attention. Seungri is strongest when he’s pleasing others, and when others are admiring all he has to offer.

“I’m so tired,” Jiyong whines, but it’s not even half as protesting as it should be, because Seungri’ll win this time. Seungri will win because he’s asking, even though he has tons of friends in Japan and doesn’t need Jiyong, so Jiyong will go. 

“Yay!” Seungri says, and he rubs his hands together excitedly. “My friend has passes to a more exclusive club tonight, so we won’t have to worry about the press, or anything like that. It’ll be great.”

“Fine,” Jiyong says, and he inwardly starts thinking about what he’ll wear, and how much coffee he should drink in preparation. 

Jiyong winds up wearing black leather, and Seungri offers him a low whistle as they head out. “You look nice,” Seungri says. “I mean, like you’re looking for a date, or something.” Seungri’s eyes flicker to the side, and Jiyong thinks there’s a faint dusting of pink across his nose.

“I’m not,” Jiyong says. “Looking for a date.” Jiyong’s eyes take a moment to look up and down Seungri’s form, admiring the way his biceps pull at the sleeves of his shirt, and the way he’s boyishly handsome with no make-up at all. “You look nice too.”

“Ah,” Seungri says, and the pink gets a little darker. “Thanks.” He laughs, strangely shy or something, and Jiyong reaches out and brushes his thumb across Seungri’s eyebrow, pushing the hairs straight. He’s standing close, and Jiyong can smell his cologne. He’s radiating warmth, and Jiyong drops his hand to Seungri’s shoulder. There’s muscle there, and Jiyong likes the way it feels beneath his fingertips.

“Caterpillar brows,” Jiyong says, and Seungri’s breath catches, and he laughs and steps back, and Jiyong feels a little cooler in Seungri’s wake.

“Well, you know,” Seungri says. “I have to make it fair for the rest of you guys.” It’s a familiar joke, but Seungri’s voice cracks a bit, like he’s uncomfortable.

“I see,” Jiyong says dryly, and he shoves Seungri in the shoulder to break the strange mood. “Rascal.”

It works, and Seungri’s tension visibly unravels, and Jiyong is relieved. “Let’s go, let’s go.”

The club is dark, with strobe lights, just like any other night club that Seungri likes. The air smells like smoke, and cheap champagne, and it’s familiar, even if the language that everyone is speaking around him isn’t.

“Nice place,” Jiyong says, after they’ve cleared the bouncer, who scratches their name off the list and waves them inside. 

“Yeah,” Seungri says, and he grabs Jiyong’s hand to lead him through the crowd. Jiyong’s rings clank against Seungri’s. “Straight to VIP.”

“Wearing rings, now?” Jiyong yells into Seungri’s ear over the sound of the music, and Seungri’s eyes flicker down to their clasped hands. 

“I twist them, sometimes, when you’re not around,” he confesses. “I don’t know, it’s become a habit.”

Jiyong’s heart hurts.

“Oh,” Jiyong says, and the club’s noise drowns it out, and then they’re crossing into the VIP section. They’ve got a reserved table, with some of Seungri’s friends, and Jiyong recognizes a couple of them, but the others are a mystery. It’s no surprise. Seungri hoards friends now, because when he was younger, and fame came in an unexpected rush, Seungri’d had trouble keeping them. Jiyong wonders if he’d been enough, then, to keep Seungri from being lonely. 

Seungri does a round of introductions, and Jiyong repeats the names under his breath. Seungri smiles and sits across from Jiyong in the booth.

“Japanese?” the man sitting next to him asks, and Jiyong shakes his head regretfully, knowing the word but unable to really confidently respond. “English?”

“Yes,” Jiyong says, and the man smiles. 

“No Korean, sorry,” he says, and Jiyong shrugs easily. 

“English is good,” Jiyong replies, and they get into a conversation about fashion, both of them speaking imperfectly, but well enough to understand. Jiyong’s having fun, and he’s relaxed, drinking glass after glass of something red and fizzy that Seungri’s picked.

It’s after an hour that Jiyong starts to get fidgety, and he sheds his leather jacket, because the alcohol is making him hot, and he’s got all this excess energy thrumming inside of himself that he’d thought he’d used up earlier, dancing on music shows.

Seungri looks up from the other side of the table and nods out to the dance floor. Jiyong raises an eyebrow, and Seungri stands and grabs Jiyong, pulling him up. “Excuse me,” Jiyong says, and the guy nods, and Jiyong finds himself back out in the sea of people.

He likes the music here, a thick hip-hop; it’s the kind of music Youngbae likes, a little gritty, and a little nasty. Seungri is already moving to the beat, and Jiyong’s almost too busy watching him to join. There’s space between them, but someone behind Jiyong bumps into him, shoving him closer, and then they’re dancing together. 

Seungri looks surprised, at first, and then he’s moving again, and Jiyong can feel the line of Seungri’s body against his own, Seungri’s thigh between his own. 

It’s sweat, and a beat, and Seungri’s eyes meet his own, and Jiyong might be imagining it, but there’s something bright and unreadable there, something that makes Jiyong feel a little like he’s on fire. “Hyung,” Seungri mouths, and Jiyong gravitates towards Seungri’s mouth.

Seungri’s eyes flutter closed, and Jiyong leans in, hands settling on either side of Seungri’s waist, the flesh hot beneath his palms. Seungri’s tongue flicks out and moistens his lips, and Jiyong’s eyes follow its path. 

“Hyung,” Seungri says, and this time, Jiyong can hear him. 

The song changes, and it’s like someone’s poured cold water on Jiyong. He takes a step back, and Seungri looks at him, dazed, looking a little like he doesn’t understand what’s just happened. 

“Oh god,” Jiyong says, and he’s stepping further back, and then he’s spinning around, headed for the entrance of the club. He brushes past the bouncer and out into the street, walking past the people lined up at the door. He’s just got his tank-top on, and it’s chilly, the cool night air giving him goosebumps, and it wakes Jiyong up, leaving him feeling sober and disgusted with himself. “What am I doing?” he says aloud to himself, and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, sticking one between his lips. He digs in his other pocket and finds his lighter, an expensive one with the GD&TOP logo on it that Seunghyun had given it for his birthday. 

He lights the cigarette, and the first inhale calms him, at least enough that he can think around the haze of liquor. _So stupid,_ he thinks, and it’s cold out here, and Jiyong wraps an arm around himself, fingers curling around his tattoo, black ink peeking through the space between his fingers. 

Suddenly, a jacket is draped over his shoulders—his own jacket. “You left it inside,” Seungri says, and Jiyong’s heart is in his throat. “I thought you might be cold.”

Something in Seungri’s tone is begging for reassurance, and Jiyong doesn’t know what to do. 

“Thank you,” Jiyong says.

“If you could… not do things like that,” Seungri says, “that would be better.”

Jiyong, looks up at Seungri, and he looks… scared, like he doesn’t know what Jiyong is going to do. What Jiyong is going to say. But, Jiyong notices, his hand is still on Jiyong’s shoulder, and he’s not standing three feet away like he should be. Like Jiyong expected him to be. “Like what,” Jiyong says, not really asking, because obviously-

“Like run out of parties without your coat. You’ll get sick.”

Jiyong laughs, because he doesn’t know how else to react. “Maknae, you don’t have your coat, either.”

“Didn’t bring one,” Seungri says, and Jiyong shrugs Seungri’s hand off his shoulder, and then slips the coat off too. He drapes it across Seungri’s broader ones, and Seungri looks at him in surprise. “What are you-“

“Let me,” Jiyong says. “Just. Let me.”

“Alright,” Seungri says, and Jiyong passes him the cigarette. Seungri takes it, but doesn’t smoke. Instead, he drops it, and puts it out. “We headed home?”

“No,” Jiyong says, and his blood is pounding in his ears. “We can go back in.” Jiyong crosses his arms, and Seungri frowns, and takes a deep breath.

“Hyung,” he says, and Jiyong wants to throw up. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Jiyong says. “Nothing happened.” Seungri rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, and Jiyong watches him swallow. The sheen of sweat on his face is evaporating in the cool evening air, and Jiyong admires the way the light outlines his profile. “Nothing.” It has to be nothing. Jiyong just keeps fucking up.

“It’s always nothing,” Seungri says, in a low voice, eyes on the asphalt. He looks back up at Jiyong, and smiles, but it’s empty, like those days when Seungri is just too tired to charm. “Let’s go back inside.”

Seungri leaves Jiyong at the table, and then he’s back out on the dance floor, grinding with some girl. She’s pretty, all thin limbs and long hair, and Seungri pulls her close, pressing into her with those hip moves he picked up when he was twenty that had changed his fans from cooing at his cuteness to wanting more shirtless photos. 

Jiyong watches as his hands slide down her body, hands cupping her ass, shamelessly groping her, and she throws her head back, hair dangling behind her in permed waves. He’s throwing himself at her, Jiyong thinks, and it makes him want to break things.

And maybe Jiyong should have gone home after all. 

He pulls his jacket on and leaves cash for the tab, weaving his way through the crowd with much more finesse.

Jiyong doesn’t own Seungri. It’s all a game, it has to be a game, because Jiyong can’t claim maknae like that. Seungri doesn’t belong to Jiyong _like that_ , and Seungri can grind with girls in clubs and Jiyong has to deal with it. Jiyong has to get over it, because this is the way it has to be. 

It’s better this way.

“At least you took your jacket, this time,” Seungri says, and Jiyong frowns.

“Shouldn’t you be with that girl? You looked really into her. Thought I might not see you until tomorrow.” Jiyong tries not to sound bitter, but he’s not sure he’s succeeded. “Why don’t you go fuck her, and leave me alone.”

Jiyong realizes he’s being ridiculous, but he feels strung out. Too much alcohol. Too much everything.

“Don’t snap,” Seungri says. “It’s me. It’s just me.”

“I know,” Jiyong says.

“Anyway, I’d rather spend time with you,” Seungri admits, and the jealousy that’s been bubbling in Jiyong’s belly fizzles to a stop, gone as quickly as it came as he turns to Seungri in disbelief.

“But why?” Jiyong says. “I’m… it’s not-“

“You were drunk, right? You _are_ drunk.” Seungri scratches at his ear, careful to avoid the bar there. Jiyong keeps his eyes forward. “You only… You only do it when you have too much to drink.”

They don’t catch a cab. They walk. It’ll only take half an hour, and Jiyong things the air will clear out the fog in his head, make it easier to figure out why he keeps losing control.

“Sorry,” Jiyong says, halfway through the walk home. “About before. About snapping at you, too.”

“It’s okay,” Seungri says. “I like it.”

“Why?” Jiyong asks. “It doesn’t make sense for you to like it. It’s me, being careless. It’s me, being bad for you.”

“I like it when you only see me,” Seungri replies. “I like it when you want me to only see you.” And Jiyong tries not to read into that, but his heart, his stupid heart, beats far too fast, and Jiyong wonders if it’s so loud Seungri can hear it.

#

In 2009, things sort of come apart at the seams. Jiyong is overworked; he’s so tired that he can barely see straight, and he’s writing group songs while promoting his solo album. He’s on his last leg, but he never falters, smiling and putting on a good show no matter what happens. 

But then there’s controversy. Then there’s people wondering if Jiyong’s _baby_ , his song, is plagiarized, and Jiyong thinks that this could be the straw that breaks his back.

‘Heartbreaker’, Jiyong thinks, isn’t anyone else’s song. It’s his song, his feelings, his melody and beat; for whatever it’s worth, it’s Jiyong’s, and the accusation that that song, that particular song, could be anyone else’s, hurts Jiyong in ways reading things about how much people hate him as a person on the internet never could. 

Jiyong never talks about how much it hurts. He doesn’t say anything at all, and throws his shoulders back and keeps on performing, because it’s _his_ , and he won’t let antis or critics take it away from him.

Still, somehow, Seungri knows. Jiyong thinks, sometimes, that Seungri is as obsessed with him as he is with Seungri, because Seungri knows when Jiyong is sad even when Jiyong tries to hide it. Seungri can read things in Jiyong’s face that not even Youngbae can, even though Youngbae has known him longer. But Jiyong guesses Youngbae never idolized him; never watched every move Jiyong made with sparkling eyes and a determined set to his brow.

Seungri finds Jiyong alone in the studio, toying with music on the computer, mixing sounds that sound cacophonous even to his own ears.

“No one sounds like you,” Seungri says. “For better or for worse, no one sounds like you.”

“You’re just saying that because it’s me,” Jiyong says, and he accidentally laces the words with the bitterness and fear he’s been bottling up for weeks and weeks. Seungri laughs, and brushes the blonde hair out of Jiyong’s face, fingers holding the hair on top of Jiyong’s head with a loose fist. 

“No,” Seungri says. “And you can trust me, because it’s me.”

“What does that mean?” Jiyong asks, because Seungri sounds so sure, so firm and confident.

“It means that I wouldn’t pick just anyone to look up to,” Seungri says. “I’m too talented and attractive to pick someone ordinary to admire.”

“You’re right,” Jiyong says, and he laughs, this little wet laugh that’s almost hysterical. “I must be really something.”

“Yeah,” Seungri says, and his hand slips from Jiyong’s bangs backward, through the rest of his hair, pausing to tangle with the strands at the back of Jiyong’s neck. “I’m the visuals of the band, but you’re the talent.”

Jiyong looks up as Seungri, and he feels soft and fragile, but it’s Seungri, so it’s okay. It’s Seungri, who Jiyong loves more than anyone else, even if Seungri can never know just how much.

“You’re not just the visuals,” Jiyong says. “You’re the heart, too.” 

Seungri is Jiyong’s heart, at least, and that counts for a lot.

#

NYONGTORI hits number two on the Oricon weekly chart, right behind some boy band from Japan’s hitmaking boy band factory, and Jiyong’s pleased. 

He hears FIRST KISS everywhere he goes, and it’s so damn catchy. He hums it as he walks around the apartment, picking up Seungri’s clothes and stacking them on Seungri’s bed. Seungri just rolls his eyes, and picks up Jiyong’s accessories and leaves them in a pile on the coffee table.

They go on a live show to perform the lead-track, and Seungri performs his best yet. The thing about Japanese shows is that often, they perform in a vacuum. Without the cheers and screams, there’s nothing to get Seungri excited. But on a live show, with people screaming his name, Seungri is perfect, and Jiyong gets so excited watching him that he ups his own game. They are almost deafened by screams when Jiyong leans forward and pecks Seungri on the cheek, and the slight taste of Seungri’s sweat on Jiyong’s lips is as sweet as their song. 

Afterwards, Jiyong feels playful, teasing Seungri as they walk back to the changing area. 

“Excuse me,” a woman says, and Jiyong stops. 

“Yes?” Jiyong answers, in tentative Japanese, and the way she’s looking at him… _Oh,_ Jiyong thinks.

“I loved your performance,” she ventures in Korean, and now Jiyong recognizes her as one of the girls in a performing group that went on before them, and Jiyong shifts uncomfortably.

“Thank you,” he says, and he smiles a her, because it’s flattering, even if Jiyong isn’t interested.

“I was wondering-“ she starts to say, and Jiyong is trying to figure out how to politely get out of this, but then Seungri interrupts.

“I’m sorry,” Seungri says, in flawless Japanese, and he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “But we’ve really got to go.” Jiyong finds himself pulled off, and he barely has time to wave before they’re in the changing room, and Seungri is angrily loosening his bowtie.

“Why are you angry?” Jiyong says, feeling a little peeved. “I should be angry. You were so rude.”

“She was hitting on you,” Seungri says, and there’s a husk to his voice that Jiyong shouldn’t find as attractive as he does. 

“So?” Jiyong says. “Girls hit on you all the time.”

“Not famous girls who will cause scandals,” Seungri says shortly, and he’s pulling his shirt off, revealing his strong back to Jiyong’s eyes. 

“You didn’t have to be so…”

“So it’s okay for you to be possessive, but not for me?” Seungri says, and Jiyong is glad they’re speaking in Korean, because the Japanese staff is staring at their raised voices. 

Jiyong feels on the spot. “No,” Jiyong says, and he looks down at his hands. He’s wearing his performance rings, the big thick ones that feel the best when he turns them behind the knuckle, and he’s twisting them anxiously. “No it isn’t.”

Seungri’s angry motions slow, and he slumps down into a chair. “I’m… sorry.”

“Me too,” Jiyong says, and he carefully takes off his jacket, hanging it up on a hanger and unbuttoning his ruffled tuxedo blouse, keeping his eyes on his hands as he does. “It’s my fault.”

“No,” Seungri says. “It’s-“

“It’s none of my business,” Jiyong says. “It’s none of my business.”

“Hyung,” Seungri starts to say, and then he stops, and pulls on a sweatshirt. “Fine,” he says.

That night, for the first time in a long time, Seungri comes into Jiyong’s room. “Can I…”

“Yes,” Jiyong says, and pulls back the covers. Seungri’s feet are cold, and Jiyong hisses at the chill.

“Sorry,” Seungri says, and he hugs Jiyong too tight. His grip is hard enough to bruise, almost as if he’s afraid Jiyong is going to say no. But Jiyong is tired, and this, just this, is okay for now.

“It’s okay,” Jiyong says, and he runs his hand up Seungri’s back.

“I thought you might be lonely, without Tom and Laura,” Seungri says, and Jiyong chuckles.

“Maybe,” he says.

“I don’t want to give this up,” Seungri says, and Jiyong’s heart is so heavy.

“Me either,” he says, and Jiyong resigns himself to being this close, and yet so far away, until the end.

#

Jiyong’s had the same voicemail saved to his phone for years.

It’s Seungri, singing happy birthday to him, his own remix of ‘Dirty Cash’, sung in the _Sseungka_ style that makes them all laugh. It sounds just as sweet, and makes Jiyong smile just as much, as it did onstage at the ‘Always’ showcase.

It goes on for minutes, because Seungri talks afterward, rambles on about how much Jiyong is special and important to him, and it takes up space on Jiyong’s phone, because he’s saved it to phone memory, and Jiyong keeps trying to delete it, but he can’t. Instead, every time he goes into his inbox, he replays it, and it cracks him up all over again, and leaves him feeling embarrassingly warm and slushy inside in a way he’d never admit to anyone else.

Once, he loses his phone, and doesn’t realize it until later, in the rehearsal room. “Have you seen my phone?” He asks Seunghyun, who looks at him like he’s lost his mind.

“Why do you look so panicked? Do you have sexts on it, or something?”

“No, I just… I really need to find it,” Jiyong says, and frustration makes his hands shake. “I just need to find it.”

“You’re about due for a different phone, anyway. You’ve had that one for years.” Seunghyun shrugs. “If there’s nothing sensitive on it, just buy a new one.”

“I don’t know where I left it,” Jiyong says, and Daesung sighs, and starts looking too, while Seunghyun looks at Jiyong incredulously. 

“Seriously, it doesn’t even have a touch-screen,” Seunghyun says. “You’re a cutting-edge fashion icon living in the dark ages. We _sell_ smart-phones. We have a contract. Can you even send a text with yours?”

“I don’t _care_ ,” Jiyong says, and now he’s throwing towels, and Daesung sighs again.

“What are we looking for?” Youngbae asks, walking into the room and dodging a towel that Jiyong’s carelessly thrown behind him in his frantic search. Seungri’s behind him.

“Jiyong’s telegraph machine,” Seunghyun says, legs crossed and resting casually on top of the table, and Jiyong glares, before resuming his search.

“Here it is,” Seungri says, and he pulls it out of his pocket. Jiyong walks over and snatches it from his hand, holding it in a too tight grip and looking at Seungri curiously. “You left it in the office, so I grabbed it. I was going to give it back to you when I walked in. I know you like it a lot, so…”

“Thank you,” Jiyong says, and he ruffles Seungri’s hair, and Seungri beams.

When they’re alone, and Jiyong is still staring at the phone, thumb stoking along the scratched up plastic flip-cover, biting his lip. 

“Why’s it so important to you?” Seungri asks. “Your phone?”

“There’re some irreplaceable things on this phone,” Jiyong admits, and Seungri tilts his head curiously. Jiyong stops to consider, then flips his phone open and puts it on speaker. He plays the message, Seungri’s message, for them both, and it echoes in the empty room. He doesn’t look at Seungri, just listens to Seungri’s cheerful voice on the phone, cracking just a little with the remnants of his voice changing, and he smiles.

When it’s over, Jiyong closes the phone, and darts his eyes at Seungri. Seungri is crying. “What’s wrong?” Jiyong asks, and Seungri puts his hand on Jiyong’s knee, and leans his head on Jiyong’s shoulder so Jiyong can’t see his face.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Seungri says, trying to sound like he isn’t crying, and a little embarrassed. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” Jiyong asks, and he feels exposed, and open.

“Just that sometimes, it’s nice to know that you care about me, too. That it’s not all fanservice and games.”

“Maknae is my favorite,” Jiyong says, and he means it.

 

#

Seungri goes out every night. 

Jiyong doesn’t know where he goes, only that he comes back late, smelling of girl’s perfume and sex, and Jiyong doesn’t ask questions. 

It’s none of his business. They’ve established that.

Still, Seungri comes into Jiyong’s room and slips into bed with him, and Jiyong welcomes him, because he doesn’t know how to say no, just as much as he doesn’t know how to say yes. 

Seungri’s hair is always damp, and Jiyong can feel it sticking to his face.

Seungri whines, when Jiyong crawls out of bed before the sun rises to write things down. He scribbles down inspiration, and then gets back into bed. Seungri has kept the sheets warm.

That Seungri sleeps with him every night, like when they were younger, is not something that they talk about during the day, where things are the same as they’ve always been, both of them giving one-hundred percent to every performance and every interview. Jiyong just smiles and straightens his cotton candy suit and puckers his lips in Seungri’s direction, and Seungri charms the audience with adorable smiles and waggling eyebrows.

When they harmonize, Jiyong thinks he’d like to duet with Seungri forever, because Seungri is such a star.

Yang Hyun Suk calls, one week before their last show, and congratulates them. Seungri smiles at the praise, and Jiyong is glad it was offered; both of them have worked hard, and Seungri has taken most of the burden for interviews because Jiyong’s Japanese is so limited.

“It’s been fun, right?” Seungri says, as Jiyong taps a beat on the kitchen table. Seungri is making them each a sandwich, and Jiyong looks up to watch him. Seungri turns to look at him, too, and the bags under his eyes are dark. He looks especially like a panda today, for some reason, and Jiyong feels a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. 

“Nyongtori is always fun,” Jiyong says. “Because maknae is my favorite.”

“Am I?” Seungri asks, and there’s more there. Jiyong pretends he can’t see it.

It’s nothing. Maybe someday he’ll believe that, but until then, it’s fake it till he makes it.

“Yes,” Jiyong says, and he writes it all down in a song no one will ever see, hiding his heart in the lyrics.

“Do you ever wish things could be different? That you weren’t famous?”

Jiyong stops, and considers. He thinks about waking up and not having to worry about someone catching him doing something he’s not supposed to. No one’s expectations but his own to live up to.

Then he thinks of a life without music. A life without BIGBANG. A life without Seungri. “No,” Jiyong says. “Even with the cost, I’d never give it up.”

“Me either,” Seungri says, and he puts the top pieces of bread on their sandwiches. “We both love this job, huh?” Seungri smiles at him, and it’s a melancholy smile.

“Among other things,” Jiyong says, and takes a bite of his sandwich. 

#

Jiyong is a masochist, in a lot of ways. 

Being close to Seungri hurts.

Still, he doesn’t want to stop, even if it’s killing him inside.

#

“Hey,” Youngbae says. “You sound tired.”

“I am,” Jiyong says. “In more ways than one.”

“I see,” Youngbae says, and he sighs. “Jiyong, you’re always so hard on yourself.”

“I’m the leader,” Jiyong says. “I have to be.”

“You don’t have to make yourself miserable,” Youngbae says.

“I’m not-“

“You’re not fooling anyone, Jiyong,” Youngbae says. “Seunghyun calls you ‘the hopeless martyr.’”

“You didn’t hit him for the sacrilege?”

“I put Splenda in his instant coffee,” Youngbae replies. “I live a life of non-violence. The point stands.”

“There are so many reasons why-“ Jiyong pulls his knit cap low on his forehead, as if to hide away.

“Yeah,” Youngbae says. “There are. And there are ways around them.”

“Complicated ways,” Jiyong says, and he’s staring at the living room ceiling.

“You’re not the only one who’s miserable,” Youngbae says. “Open your eyes.”

“They’re open,” Jiyong says. “So open.”

“Then you’re not seeing what I see,” Youngbae says. “I’ve got to go. See you soon.”

“Thank you,” Jiyong says, and there’s the dial tone, and Jiyong is left alone with his thoughts.

#

Seungri has a way of making Jiyong want to be weak. He looks at Jiyong, eyes open, with a gentle smile that Jiyong thinks might be just for him, and he wants to hold Seungri close and never let anyone else look at him. He wants to tattoo his name across Seungri’s heart, so that he can trace the lines with his finger and know that what’s underneath the ink will always belong to him.

Jiyong tells himself no all the time, but never has it been so difficult and so painful, because every bit of him is fighting what Jiyong knows is the right answer.

But Seungri also has a way of making Jiyong want to be strong. When he sees Seungri on stage, performing and smiling and blowing kisses to girls almost as hopelessly in love with him as Jiyong is, Jiyong wants to protect him, and protect his dream. “If I wasn’t a singer,” Jiyong had told an interviewer, “I’d want to be Seungri’s manager.”

It’s ultimately that feeling that keeps Jiyong from reaching out and taking. Because in the end, maknae isn’t really his. Seungri belongs to his girlfriends, to his music, and to everyone he pleases when he steps on stage. 

Seungri isn’t his. That’s the way it is. He’s taught himself to be happy with what he has, and maybe, someday, he’ll fool his heart into thinking it’s enough.

#

They have a day off, and Jiyong is so tired. He just wants to sit on the couch and watch television, and Seungri seems to agree, curling up onto the other side of the couch as they watch in silence. 

As the afternoon passes, Seungri slowly unfurls, stretching to take up more and more of the couch until he’s laying on his back, head resting in Jiyong’s lap. Jiyong rests his hand on Seungri’s stomach, and Seungri, as always, starts fiddling with Jiyong’s fingers. “I love your hands,” Seungri says. “They look so strong.”

Jiyong doesn’t say anything, and just keeps watching the television, trying his best to ignore the rapid pattering of his heart. The pads of Seungri’s fingers are smooth, and Jiyong loves the way they linger at his knuckles. It’s erotic, and Jiyong can’t help but shift a bit. He frees his hand from Seungri’s grasp, and slips his hand under Seungri’s t-shirt, letting his palm rest flat on the skin of his belly. The muscles quiver beneath his hands, and Seungri is still, doing nothing to pause Jiyong’s explorations. Jiyong lets his fingers dance across Seungri’s abs, feeling the indents of Seungri’s hard-won six pack, and the smoothness of the skin, soft like butter beneath Jiyong’s questing fingertips. 

Seungri releases a low moan, and Jiyong suddenly realizes what he’s doing, and jerks his hand away like he’s been burned. _I’m going to hell,_ he thinks, and he stand up abruptly, leaving Seungri gazing at him, looking hurt and confused and uncomfortable, neck twisted in a strange position as he tries to keep his eyes on Jiyong.

“Sorry,” Jiyong mumbles. “That was… that was a mistake.”

Seungri sits up, and puts his hands flat on his thighs. “Of course,” Seungri says. “Of course it was a mistake. It’s always a mistake.”

Seungri’s voice, Jiyong think, sounds choked, and strange. Like it’s somewhere between angry and hurt. 

“I’m sorry,” Jiyong says again. “You can forget it.” Jiyong presses his lips together, and his hair is tickling his neck, and it itches. “I don’t know why…”

“How many times are you going to take it back?” Seungri asks, and Jiyong can barely hear him, but he gets it. He gets it, and it sends fear racing into his gut, where it boils. 

“I don’t know,” Jiyong says. “As many times as I have to.”

“I can’t take this anymore,” Seungri says. “I’m going to go insane.”

Jiyong steps forward, and drops his hand onto Seungri’s shoulder. He wants to apologize, but he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to explain to Seungri that Seungri is like a drug, and Jiyong can’t just stop; that something about Seungri is constantly pulling him closer. “Maknae…”

“Stop it,” Seungri says, and he brushes Jiyong’s hand off his shoulder. “I don’t want to play anymore.”

“Play?” Jiyong asks, and his throat is dry. 

“Whatever stupid game this is,” Seungri says. “Whatever this is, I’m so _tired_ of it, hyung.”

“Seungri,” Jiyong starts, but he’s not sure what to say. “Seungri, it’s not…”

“You can’t…” Seungri starts to say, but he stops, and then he rubs both hands across his hair. “I can’t keep letting you do this to me.”

“Do what?” Jiyong says, and he keeps his voice light, but his heart is thudding painfully in his chest. His left hand spins the rings on his right, twisting them around his fingers to distract himself from the way his hand still tingles from the touch of Seungri’s as he pushed Jiyong away.

He’s never pushed Jiyong away quite like this. 

“You know,” Seungri says. “You have to know, by now, how I feel. About… about this. All of this. You.” Seungri’s eyes dart up to look into Jiyong’s for a moment, and Jiyong tries to read what he sees there, and tries to make sense of the way his stomach tumbles over itself at the dark shadows under Seungri’s eyes that look a little darker than usual. “And if you don’t know, it’s because you don’t want to.”

“I don’t know everything, maknae,” Jiyong says, and his voice cracks, just enough that Seungri notices. Seungri notices, and takes a step back. “I know you think I know everything, but I never have. Explain it to me.” Jiyong says it like he used to bark commands in rehearsal, but Seungri doesn’t fall into line. He doesn’t give Jiyong that eager look. Instead he winces, and Jiyong’s heart freezes.

“I didn’t think you knew everything, hyung,” Seungri replies, and his eyes are back on his feet, back curled in a way that’s all wrong; it’s not Seungri at all, to look so defeated, so down. Even when they were kids, and nothing Seungri had done had been good enough for Jiyong, Seungri had always stood tall and strong; recklessly confident and brave. Seungri’s back had always been straight, eyes daring Jiyong to look away. Jiyong had never quite managed take his eyes of Seungri since. “But I thought you knew this.”

But now Seungri looks like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, and there’s something Jiyong can’t see, and Jiyong’s chest is tight with it. Seungri starts to walk away, into the hallway toward the front door, but Jiyong reaches out and grabs Seungri’s wrist, holding firm. “Don’t walk away from me,” Jiyong says, and he tries to sound commanding but maybe he just sounds desperate.

“You’re hurting me,” Seungri says quietly, and Jiyong drops Seungri’s arm quickly, and Seungri carefully cradles his wrist and looks out the window, over the Tokyo skyline. 

“I’m sorry,” Jiyong says. “I didn’t mean to grab so hard. I just-”

“Not my wrist,” Seungri says. “Not my wrist, hyung.” Seungri sighs, and his hand grabs a fistful of his jeans, and Jiyong studies the way his nails are short and square, larger than Jiyong’s own. His eyes trace that hand up to Seungri’s strong forearm, up to his bare bicep. The line of his jaw. The way the muscle there is so tight that Jiyong can see the tension. “Just. Stop. Stop all of it. The touching. The words. Please. I can’t…“ Seungri pauses, and licks his lips, and Jiyong lets his hood fall forward and cover his eyes. He wants to hide away from the misery he sees in the curves of Seungri’s form, because he doesn’t want to understand it. “Stop it.”

Jiyong doesn’t want to stop it. Jiyong likes the way Seungri shivers uncomfortably under his teasing fingers, and the way Seungri offers him secretive smiles when he thinks no one is looking. The way he looks to Jiyong for approval, when he thinks he’s been clever, and the way he automatically sits next to Jiyong, in Jiyong’s personal space, even when they’re alone in the room and there are plenty of seats. He likes the way Seungri’s skin is soft under the pad of his thumb, and the way Seungri’s thigh is hard beneath his palm.

Seungri is like an oasis of sanity for Jiyong when the world is moving too fast. Seungri is someone Jiyong can count on to look at him with those earnest, pleading eyes, and Jiyong knows he will never let Seungri down, because Seungri only wants what Jiyong is able to give; nothing more and nothing less.

Except now, Seungri wants something else from Jiyong, expects something else from Jiyong, and Jiyong doesn’t know how to give it. Jiyong doesn’t even know exactly what that something is, that makes Seungri look at him with those wet eyes, mouth full and lush and swollen from worrying teeth. 

He doesn’t know what Seungri is asking for, now, when Seungri shimmies away from his hold in a way that’s not as joking as it was when they were kids. And he can’t figure out why Seungri looks so sad and afraid, when all Jiyong wants to want is to smile at him dotingly, enjoying the way Seungri charms with his smug grin and obnoxious laugh.

Seungri is the one person Jiyong never lets down. Except now…

“I don’t get it,” Jiyong says. “What’s wrong with the way things are? I’ve been trying, and I know I made mistakes, but-“

“I’m not a toy,” Seungri says. “I’m a person. I’m not a melody you can change to fit your lyrics. I’m not a jacket you can spruce up with new sleeves and a chain. I’m a person. And I feel things, when you touch me. When you press close to me, almost kiss me, I want-“ Seungri bites down, hard, on his lip. “Just. I’ve had enough. I don’t know if it’s just me.” Seungri sighs. “I don’t know how you feel, no matter how much I try to figure it out. But when you touch me, it means something different to me than it means to you, maybe. And it hurts, that it will always be that way. That it will always mean something different. It hurts that it doesn’t matter how much I...”

“But I don’t know why anything has to change,” Jiyong says, and panic is racing up his veins and lodging in his heart, because he feels like maybe Seungri is disappearing before his eyes, slipping through Jiyong’s fingers. Jiyong doesn’t want that. Seungri is… “I tried so hard to-“

“Because I don’t want to be just convenient,” Seungri says. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore, hyung. I’m... you’ve always been everything. But sometimes I feel like nothing.”

“You’re not nothing,” Jiyong says. “You’re so far from nothing you wouldn’t possibly believe it. But we all have things that come first-“

“I want to come first,” Seungri says. “You know me. I have to be the center of attention. I’ve wanted you to look only at me for so long, I… I thought, maybe, when you kissed me…” Seungri laughs, and hiccups, because he’s almost crying. “But somehow, I knew you’d take it back. Knew you’d regret it, even if you ever did manage to actually want me.”

“I don’t know what I can give you,” Jiyong admits, shakily, and Seungri swallows. “I have a responsibility-“

“I wish you were mine,” Seungri says. “I don’t want it to be a game anymore. I don’t want it to be pretend. I don’t want to go out with all these girls just because I can’t have you.”

Jiyong wants to stop him, wants to say anything. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Jiyong was supposed to be suffering all on his own, and Seungri was supposed to be happy. Seungri was supposed to be free. But now, Seungri is saying all these things that make Jiyong want to give in. That make Jiyong want to forget that there’s so much more at stake here than his stupid, unwavering heart.

So Jiyong says nothing at all, and Jiyong doesn’t need to look to see that Seungri is shattering in front of him.

Seungri walks out, and he closes the door behind him, and Jiyong is left standing alone in the middle of the living room, palms sweating and chest so tight he can barely breathe. Jiyong is lost, and he doesn’t know what’s just happened. All he knows is that he can’t make it go away by sneaking into Seungri’s room and curling around him, wrapping an arm around Seungri’s strong, grown-up waist and burying his nose in the sweet lavender scent of Seungri’s hair. 

He can’t make it go away like that, because Jiyong doesn’t understand Seungri’s feelings right now. Worse, he doesn’t understand his own. 

It’s all Jiyong’s fault, really. Because Jiyong isn’t strong enough.

#

“Hey, maknae,” Jiyong whispers, but Seungri is asleep, head pillowed on his arms and bangs askew. His watch will leave an indent in his cheek that Jiyong will taunt him about later. 

It’s always like this, but it’s Jiyong’s job to be the responsible one. It’s Jiyong’s job to stay awake.

“I love you,” Jiyong whispers, and no one hears him, but he feels a little bit lighter, because he knows it’s the closest to telling Seungri that he’ll ever allow himself to get.

#

Jiyong has a new phone, now, one of the ones they endorse, but he takes the old one with him on trips sometimes, and let’s Seungri’s voice wash over him, that annoying laugh comforting in a way that makes Jiyong feel like Seungri’s right next to him.

#

Jiyong hears Seungri come home at three in the morning, far later than Jiyong had expected him, but Jiyong doesn’t know what to do about a Seungri that’s upset with him. 

He’s not quiet, almost like he knows Jiyong is awake, and Jiyong hears him slip his shoes off, and get water from the fridge.

_It hurts,_ Jiyong hears echoing in his head. _It hurts that no matter how much I-_

Jiyong breathes slowly, the cotton of his sheets feeling rough against his skin, as he waits for Seungri to go quiet, to creep into his own room for the first time in two weeks, and end this seemingly endless night. 

Tomorrow, they can awkwardly navigate around each other in the kitchen. Jiyong will reach out to touch and hold himself back, and Seungri will refuse to meet Jiyong’s eyes, and maybe, just like last time, after a while, they’ll both claim to have forgotten, and things can continue the way they were. They can both pretend that they don’t want more. Jiyong will bury it all inside himself and write really sad songs and Seungri will smile and smile and tell cheesy jokes and do terrible impersonations, and Jiyong will watch him and wish…

Jiyong is telling himself that it’s for the best. That maknae can be happy with his girlfriends and Jiyong can be happy by himself, channeling his love into music and his lust into dance beats. Jiyong is telling himself that it’s too dangerous, that he’d be risking too much, and that he could lose everything all in one fell swoop if he gives in to this.

But the truth is Jiyong is a coward. Jiyong is the world’s biggest coward, because he’s scared that at the end of the day, he’ll have to let Seungri go to save them both. 

Jiyong’s door opens. Jiyong’s not nervous, because he knows it’s Seungri. “You’re awake, right?” Seungri whispers, and Jiyong swallows. 

“Yes,” he says, and Seungri walks over to the bed. He’s wearing the jeans with the frayed pockets that Jiyong had given him, and Jiyong knows it just by the way they cling to his thighs as he walks, even in the darkness. Seungri stops by the edge of the bed and pulls back the covers, hesitantly climbing into bed like it’s not something he’s done hundreds of times before. Jiyong shifts to the side, like he always does, to make room. 

The denim of Seungri’s jeans is scratchy against Jiyong’s bare legs, the seam of them tickling the sensitive spot on the inside of Jiyong’s knees as Seungri worms his way into Jiyong’s space.

For a few minutes, they’re both silent. Jiyong takes the time to memorize the way Seungri’s hair smells like lavender still, after all these years, and the way that even though Seungri is all muscles and strength where he used to be soft pockets of fat, he still fits perfectly into the spaces Jiyong leaves for him to fill.

“I’m sorry,” Seungri says, breaking the tableau. “I’ve been trying to pretend like it meant nothing. I’d been trying for years before that, but it got harder after…”

“Yes,” Jiyong says. “I understand.” Jiyong understands perfectly, and can feel the same things mirrored in his heart.

“I thought, for a while, that there was something wrong with me. Because you’re not-“

“Not…?”

“A girl, for one thing. I don’t like men,” Seungri says. “It was just you, and with you, it was _more_. And I kept thinking it would go away. That it was hero worship, or something like that-“

“Seungri,” Jiyong says, and then he clears his throat. “Maknae, you don’t have to-“

“But then I got to know you, and you were still… I went on so many dates, and none of them were you.”

Jiyong exhales. It has been both of them, after all.

“But I can do it,” Seungri says, and his voice sounds wet, and soft, and earnest. So earnest that Jiyong hurts hearing it. “I can get over you, if I have to. I’m the best, right? I can do anything. I know I can… I can be okay with this. Just don’t… don’t go away. I want to always be your favorite. I promise, it’ll go away.” There’s a desperation there, and Seungri’s fists clench in Jiyong’s tank top, like he’s scared Jiyong is going to pull away, or that Jiyong will be angry at him for feeling all the things Jiyong’s felt too. “Don’t… please don’t pull away from me. I know I said I wanted you to, but I-”

Jiyong lets his arms slide around Seungri, pulling him closer. “Maknae is my favorite,” Jiyong says, and Seungri sniffles, pressing his nose into Jiyong’s collarbone, pressing against his tattoo there, right on one of the red stars, and Jiyong wonders if it’s possible to explode with love. If it is, he thinks, he’s in danger of it, his fingers trembling as they glide in soothing circles across Seungri’s back. “Maknae will always be my favorite.”

Seungri has offered Jiyong a way out. Jiyong blinks twice, and tries to convince himself that it’s for the best. For the both of them. That this is what he needs to do, even if it’s not what he wants. 

“Hyung,” Seungri says, and he pulls back a little, and Jiyong can make out every detail of Seungri’s face, because Seungri close enough that Jiyong can smell the liquor on his breath, and the faint scent of sweat. He can see the sheen of wetness in Seungri’s eyes, and the way Seungri’s lips tremble. “I…”

Jiyong thinks, in a moment of clarity, that maybe, sometimes, it might be okay to be selfish. Seungri looks like he might fall apart in Jiyong’s arms, his spine curving gently under Jiyong’s palms and his eyes searching Jiyong’s for assurance like they’re both teenagers and Seungri is afraid of rejection.

Jiyong doesn’t want to reject him. Jiyong doesn’t want to reject himself anymore, either.

And yes, he thinks, it will make things more complicated. And yes, it will make things harder. But in the end, Jiyong thinks, maybe it’s worth it.

Something in Jiyong snaps, and he doesn’t even realize he’s going to kiss Seungri until he’s already doing it, head tilting to the side and moving closer until Seungri’s mouth is under his own. Jiyong lets his eyes fall closed, and Seungri’s mouth is as soft as he remembers, and this time it’s Seungri who tastes faintly of _soju_.

Jiyong concentrates on the way Seungri’s mouth immediately parts beneath his own, and the way Seungri makes these tiny gasps that go straight to Jiyong’s cock, and the way Seungri melts into him, hands releasing Jiyong’s tank-shirt and instead slipping under it, long fingers along Jiyong’s ribs, skating along them and leaving gooseflesh in their wake.

Seungri’s always been so quick, Jiyong knows; smarter and more clever than Jiyong will ever be, and Jiyong appreciates that more now, because Seungri has rolled them over, straddling Jiyong and pushing his shirt up in the same breath. “Can I....?” Seungri gasps, when he pulls back enough that they can both breathe in, and Jiyong feels the words against his lips, because Seungri doesn’t move away. 

“Yes,” Jiyong says. “Oh god yes.” And Jiyong lets his hands fall to Seungri’s thighs, letting his palms glide up the firm muscle encased in denim. And then Seungri is kissing Jiyong again, and Jiyong lets him. 

Seungri kisses like he does everything else, eager to please and full of enthusiasm, and Jiyong drinks it in the same way he does with everything Seungri does. Seungri slips his tongue into Jiyong’s mouth, and Jiyong curls his own tongue around it, enjoying the tiny noises Seungri can’t help but make. “So noisy, maknae,” Jiyong says into Seungri’s mouth, and Seungri laughs, and that’s loud too, because everything Seungri does is loud, and Jiyong’s glad that things feel normal again, even if this is different.

“No one is here but us,” Seungri says, when he breaks away to pull his black t-shirt over his head. “Plus, you think I’m cute.”

“Most of the time,” Jiyong says, but then he pushes his hands up, across Seungri’s sexy, sculpted abs, letting his thumbs brush across the hair at Seungri’s navel, dragging a whining sound out of Seungri’s oh so expressive mouth. “But right now, I don’t think you’re cute at all.”

“Is that a good thing?” Seungri says, and there’s a playful something in his eyes that reminds Jiyong of the mischievous look Seungri has on his face when he’s about to play a prank, and Jiyong loves it. Loves everything about Seungri, who’s all grown up and maybe not so cute at all anymore. 

“It’s a very good thing,” Jiyong purrs, and it makes Seungri shiver, and lean down to capture Jiyong’s mouth again. Jiyong enjoys the way Seungri is being aggressive, and the way Seungri grinds down against him on every exhale. 

But then Seungri sits up straight, and the play of his muscles beneath his skin is fascinating to Jiyong, the way everything Seungri does is fascinating to Jiyong. “You’re not drunk,” Seungri says, and Jiyong’s hands settle at Seungri’s waist, enjoying the way Seungri leans into his touch. 

“No,” Jiyong says. “Not at all.”

“Good,” Seungri says. “Because neither am I.” Seungri looks down at Jiyong, and he looks defiant, and it makes Jiyong want to move. 

So he does, pushing up with his hips and unbalancing Seungri, sending him toppling down onto Jiyong’s chest, and Jiyong flips them, so Seungri is spread out beneath him, looking up at Jiyong with wide eyes. Jiyong presses a gentle kiss to Seungri’s mouth, and then a hungry one, and Seungri whimpers as Jiyong fumbles for Seungri’s wrists, pinning them to the bed with his own hands on either side of Seungri’s head. Jiyong kisses across Seungri’s cheek and over to his jaw, licking at the now salty skin and Seungri is panting into his ear. Jiyong’s cock is begging for attention, but he ignores it, instead licking along the shell of Seungri’s ear, where Seungri’s industrial piercing gleams in the faint moonlight coming in through the window. 

Seungri wriggles beneath him, and Jiyong licks a path down Seungri’s neck, along the vein there, pausing to feel Seungri’s quickly beating heart there. Jiyong kisses and sucks hard enough to bruise, because they wear enough make-up to cover it, and also because he wants the world to know, somehow, that maknae is his. 

“You’re mine,” Jiyong says aloud, and Seungri gulps, and his hips jerk up at it, and then Seungri turns and nudges at Jiyong with his nose until Jiyong finds his mouth again.

“Yeah,” Seungri says. “I always have been.”

Jiyong’s heart is so full. “Good,” Jiyong says, tone rough, and then he’s kissing his way down, lingering at Seungri’s collarbones and lavishing attention upon the space between his pectoral muscles. Seungri gasps and writhes under Jiyong’s tongue, and when Jiyong releases his wrists, sliding the flat of his palms down Seungri’s arms and letting his hands rest on either side of Seungri’s torso, Seungri’s hands make their way into Jiyong’s hair, clenching the strands between his fingers, tugging too hard. Jiyong loves that too. He loves everything right now.

Mostly he loves Seungri, all of Seungri, every inch of him.

His tongue circles Seungri’s belly button before leaving a line of saliva from hipbone to hipbone along the waistline of Seungri’s favorite denims. “Please,” Seungri says, Jiyong smirks against the skin, bringing his hands down to toy with the button to Seungri’s jeans.

“I can’t hear you,” Jiyong says. “You’ll have to be louder.”

“Touch me,” Seungri says, and he sounds like he’s having trouble finding his breath, but it’s insistent, and demanding, and Jiyong concedes, undoing the button and dragging the zipper down.

“You’re not wearing underwear,” Jiyong says with a laugh, even as he nuzzles at Seungri’s fully erect penis with his nose, pressing a soft kiss to the shaft as he pulls it out. 

“They make the jeans fit weird,” Seungri says, or starts to say, before Jiyong takes him into his mouth. 

Seungri’s hips persistently push up as Jiyong sucks at the crown, and Jiyong has to push down on Seungri’s pelvis with both hands to keep from choking. 

“More,” Seungri says, and Jiyong licks along the shaft before relaxing his jaw so he can take Seungri in deeper, and Seungri rewards him with these delicious noises that make Jiyong even more aroused.

Jiyong’s mouth wraps around Seungri’s erection the same way his mouth wraps around words, teasing and tasting and driving Seungri insane as Seungri struggles to keep his eyes open. Jiyong watches his every move carefully, and that seems to drive Seungri even more wild. His pale skin is flush, and Jiyong has never seen him look more beautiful than he looks right now, teeth digging into his lower lip and eyes bright and pleased.

Seungri’s hands tightening in his hair is the only warning Jiyong gets before Seungri spills down his throat with a low mewl, this gorgeous sound that Jiyong has never heard his maknae make before but he’d love to hear him make again, rich and full and so dirty Jiyong thinks he might come untouched. Seungri tastes like sea-salt against his tongue, and Jiyong lets the softening erection slip out from between his lips before crawling back up Seungri’s body. 

Seungri pulls on his tank-shirt, dragging Jiyong down to him, And Seungri’s still mostly wearing his jeans but Jiyong can feel Seungri’s cock press against his own. He hisses, and so does Seungri, because it’s still too sensitive, and Jiyong tries to lift his hips away but Seungri hooks an ankle around Jiyong’s shin and keeps him close. “I don’t want you to pull away,” Seungri murmurs, and Jiyong kisses him.

Seungri doesn’t seem to mind his own taste in Jiyong’s mouth, because he licks at Jiyong’s cheeks and doesn’t bother to move his hands from between them.

Jiyong feels hot, so hot, and he can’t help the way he presses into Seungri’s thigh, the urgent need for friction driving his hips forward in shallow thrust.

Seungri’s kisses slow, and now he’s wriggling again, freeing his arms from between their bodies and moving them down to the elastic waist of Jiyong’s boxers, slipping them beneath the band to cup Jiyong’s ass. 

Jiyong moans into Seungri’s pliant lips, and Seungri kneads, and Jiyong feels like he’s boiling. “Maknae,” Jiyong says, and Seungri sloppily kisses around Jiyong’s mouth, landing open-mouthed on Jiyong’s chin and nose.

“I don’t really know,” Seungri says hesitantly, even as his hands slides. “What to do with a guy.” Jiyong laughs. 

“You’ve always been a fast learner,” Jiyong says, and then Seungri’s hand wraps around him. “See, you’ve always learned the choreo the fastest.”

“I just want to impress you,” Seungri says, and Jiyong chokes on his laugh as Seungri’s thumb teases his slit. 

“You’re amazing, maknae,” Jiyong manages, and Seungri pulls his hand up and spits into it, and this time when he takes Jiyong in hand it feels even better. “Oh god, I want to fuck you.” 

“Yeah?” Seungri asks, and he slows his hand. “You can, if you want.” And then he meets Jiyong’s eyes. Seungri is looking at Jiyong like he’d trust Jiyong with anything and everything, and it makes Jiyong want to pull Seungri even closer.

“Okay,” Jiyong says. “Okay.” And Jiyong pulls away from Seungri, far enough away to pull off his shirt and push his boxers down. Seungri is staring at him like he’s never seen him naked before, even though they’ve seen each other without clothes before. Jiyong supposes it is different now, because now, when he wants to kiss Seungri, there’s nothing to keep him from pressing his lips to Seungri’s belly, watching Seungri tremble as Jiyong slides his jeans down his legs. Seungri’s cock is already starting to harden again, and when Jiyong’s knuckles brush against it Seungri’s hips cant upward toward his touch, the way Seungri does in everyday life, moving toward Jiyong like a magnet. “These are nice jeans,” Jiyong says, and Seungri offers him a catlike smile.

“I trust the person who bought them for me _implicitly_ with fashion,” Seungri says, and Jiyong arches an eyebrow. 

“Obviously,” Jiyong says, and Seungri laughs, and Jiyong reaches under the bed, leaving one of his hands resting reassuringly on Seungri’s thigh, blindly fumbling for his travel bag. Inside he finds his lube, a couple of tubes of it, and he tosses them onto the bed. “Do you know how this works?”

“I looked it up on Naver,” Seungri says. “I have a general idea.” He blushes a deep red. “Then I erased my search history.”

“Smart boy,” Jiyong said, and he’s nervous, all of a sudden, because this has never meant this much. This has never been so important. Jiyong wants to get it right, because he wants to take care of Seungri. “This will…”

“I know,” Seungri says, and he smiles, and Jiyong can see his dimples, and this is maknae. Jiyong knows how to touch maknae. And maknae won’t push him away.

“Okay,” Jiyong says, and he slicks three fingers.

“I’ve always liked your hands,” Seungri says, and Jiyong wants to laugh but he can’t, because he’s struggling to breath. Seungri is so tight around his fingers that Jiyong can’t help but imagine how it will feel around his erection, slick like silk.

“I know,” Jiyong says, and he licks his lips because they feel dry, and the Seungri reaches forward and tugs on his arm, and Jiyong leans down, two fingers deep, and licks Seungri’s lips too. “Maknae is mine,” he says again, and Seungri shivers, and clenches around Jiyong’s hand, and Jiyong can’t wait.

“You’re too patient,” Seungri says. “Hurry, hurry, hurry.”

“Always so demanding,” Jiyong whispers, and then he’s sliding home, and Seungri is arching into him, nails dragging lines into Jiyong’s back, and it hurts just right.

“You love it,” Seungri says and Jiyong grabs a hold of Seungri’s thighs, pushing them up, rubbing along the tense flesh as Seungri’s eyes flutter shut. “You… you think I’m cute.”

“I love it,” Jiyong agrees. _I love you._

“Who doesn’t?” Seungri says, and then he isn’t saying anything, just grunting and panting as Jiyong pulls out and pushes in hard, increasing his pace as Seungri unravels beneath him. It’s all sweat and sweet sounds and tension that runs from Jiyong’s spine all the way down to his toes. He’s close, and he wraps a hand around Seungri, stroking him hard, and Seungri gasps and spills onto Jiyong’s hands, and Jiyong follows, spinning and tumbling into climax. 

He waits to pull out, slow and easy, and collapses next to Seungri, Seungri wincing at the tightness in his thighs for a moment before his face smoothes. He turns and curls into Jiyong, their skin sticking together with perspiration and release, and Jiyong will probably regret not cleaning up in the morning, but right now he doesn’t want to let Seungri go.

“I’m impossible not to love,” Seungri says sleepily. “Impossible.”

Jiyong runs a hand through Seungri’s hair, damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead. Then he reaches down and intertwines their fingers. “You are,” Jiyong says, and Seungri’s drowsy smile is the most perfect thing he’s ever seen.

“You can’t take this back,” Seungri says firmly, and Jiyong drowsily pets him.

“Okay,” he says, and smiles. His heartbeat slows to a comforting rhythm.

#

Little-Seunghyun is looking at Jiyong with wide innocent eyes. “Am I doing it right?”

“Yes,” Jiyong says, and Little-Seunghyun glows with pleasure. “You always work so hard.”

“It’s because of you,” Little-Seunghyun says, and Jiyong feels a tug in his heart.

“You’re all right, maknae,” Jiyong says, and it comes out gruff, but Little-Seunghyun looks like Christmas has come early.

“Do you love me yet?” Little-Seunghyun asks, and Jiyong crosses his arms.

“Don’t push your luck,” he says, and Little-Seunghyun deflates, and Jiyong wants to wrap an arm around his shoulders, and hold him close until he smiles and prances some more.

And maybe, Jiyong thinks, he loves him just a little.

#

“Aww,” Taeyang says, when they finally make it to the meeting room, Seungri carrying Jiyong on his back. “The couple is late.”

“Nyongtori!” Jiyong says, like it’s an explanation, and Seunghyun rolls his eyes. 

“If I didn’t know better…” he says, and Seungri laughs and flashes him a ‘v’ with his fingers while Jiyong lets a smirk crawl up his face. He buries it into the soft fabric of Seungri’s jacket so no one can see. 

Really, they got to the building on time, but Seungri had been so energetic and smiley as he explained to Jiyong about how he’d managed to convince the taxi driver who took him home from his talk show appearance yesterday to sing a part of VVIP to him on the ride that Jiyong had dragged Seungri into an abandoned rehearsal room and slammed him into the wall, kissing him until Seungri had melted beneath him, held up only by the pressure of Jiyong’s fist pressing into his sternum, clenched into the fabric of Seungri’s shirt. 

Then it had taken them a few minutes to rearrange their clothes, and Seungri had looked so flustered that Jiyong just had to kiss him again.

Soon, Jiyong thinks, as he peels himself away from Seungri to sit next to Youngbae on the couch, they’ll have to tell the other members. Soon, they’ll have to figure out how not to get caught by anyone else. Soon, Jiyong will have to go up to Yang Hyun Suk’s office and tell him what’s going on, just in case. All these things he’ll have to do to protect their career, and everyone else’s careers. 

Soon, Jiyong will have to be smart, and not selfish, and he’ll have to be careful about pulling Seungri into empty hallway and kissing him senseless.

But soon is not now, and Jiyong relishes in the little touches that mean nothing and yet mean everything, grabbing hold of Jiyong’s heart and tugging on it. He winks at Seungri, and Seungri grins back at him unabashedly, and Jiyong realizes that actually, to an outside eye, nothing’s really changed. 

But for them, everything has changed, and Jiyong’s never felt so full.

Later, as they’re leaving the building for their first talk show all together since NYONGTORI had finished their promotions in Japan, Jiyong walks up beside Seungri and grabs his hand, linking their fingers together, and Seungri makes a face at him, like he always does. “Are they dating?” Daesung says, doing a female fan impersonation, and Jiyong grins at him cheesily. 

“We’re Nyongtori,” he says, and Seungri squeezes his hand and doesn’t let go. “Of course we are. Maknae is mine.”

“We know, we know,” Youngbae says, and he gives Jiyong a long, considering look, before he shrugs, sliding his sunglasses down onto his nose. “Not like everyone isn’t used to it.”

Jiyong leans over and kisses Seungri sloppily on the cheek. “Maknae is so cute,” he says, and Seungri rubs at his cheek bemusedly, a pleased expression sneaking into his eyes. Then Jiyong turns back to Youngbae and flashes him a grin. “They’d better be used to it by now.”

“Gross,” Seunghyun says, and scratches at the back of his neck. “When’s the wedding, lovebirds?”

Jiyong doesn’t answer, just keeps walking forward, and it’s all okay. Everything will be okay. Jiyong doesn’t know how things will turn out at the end of it all, but as Seungri’s thumb strokes the back of Jiyong’s, he figures as long as he has Seungri, the smartest and cleverest of them all, they’ll figure something else.

“Hyung, pay attention!” Seungri says, and Jiyong realizes he’s been talking all the while.

“I always am,” Jiyong says, and Seungri shines as bright as a star in Jiyong’s eyes. 

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> Um. I wanted to write fluff. And then I didn’t.


End file.
